“Venus” is sometimes used to designate representations of the female body in arts and cultural anthropology, referring to the Roman goddess of love and fertility. “Hottentot” was a colonial-era term for the indigenous Khoikhoi people of southwestern Africa, now usually considered an offensive term. The Sarah Baartman story is often regarded as the epitome of racist colonial exploitation and the commodification of the dehumanization of Black people.¹⁴⁷

Sarah Baartman was a South African woman of Khoikhoi descent, born around 1789. She became a symbol of the deep-seated racism and objectification that Black women have endured historically and continue to face today.

Baartman was lured from her home under the pretext of wealth and fame and brought to Europe, where she was showcased as a spectacle in early nineteenth-century freak shows. Her body, particularly her large buttocks and labia, became objects of fascination, ridicule, and scientific inquiry among Europeans who viewed her as an exotic other. When she died in 1815, her body was dissected and displayed in a Paris museum until 1974, further dehumanizing her posthumously.

The story of Sarah Baartman symbolizes the hypersexualization and objectification of Black women’s bodies, which have been historically reduced to mere spectacles for the male gaze. The use of her body for entertainment and scientific inquiry mirrors the broader historical context where Black bodies were used as objects in the slave trade and medical experiments.

Sarah Baartman’s life, exploitation, and public display, even in death, exemplify the racialized and gendered gaze that reduces Black women to their bodies and denies them their full humanity. Her story symbolizes the racist and sexist attitudes deeply rooted in Western society that continue to affect the lives of Black women today.

In today’s society, the echoes of Baartman’s story reverberate in the way Black women’s bodies continue to be exoticized and stereotyped. We see this reflected in many realms: media representation often focuses on certain physical features of Black women, like the trend of non-Black celebrities emulating fuller lips and curvier bodies; social media influencers are regularly accused of “Blackfishing” or altering their appearance to look Black; and in advertising, where Black women’s bodies are often depicted in a hypersexualized or objectified manner. The legacy of this harmful practice manifests in the continued commodification of Black women’s bodies in media and popular culture, their over-sexualization in music videos, and even the perpetuation of beauty standards that devalue Black features while simultaneously appropriating them.

In deconstructing the harmful legacy of the objectification of Black women, Sarah Baartman’s story plays a vital role. She has become a symbol of resistance and a catalyst for dialogue about the ongoing dehumanization of Black women. Her posthumous repatriation to South Africa in 2002 and the subsequent removal of her remains from public display were symbolic acts of justice and resistance against her objectification.

The retelling of Baartman’s story also serves as a reminder of the insidious ways in which the legacy of racism and sexism persists. It sparks discussions about how society values and perceives Black women and how these perceptions contribute to systemic racism and sexism. As a symbol, Baartman compels us to challenge and dismantle these harmful portrayals and practices, calling for a more respectful and inclusive recognition of Black women’s humanity. In the face of ongoing struggles, the memory of Sarah Baartman serves as a beacon of resistance against objectification and dehumanization.

Sarah Baartman’s story deserves to be told. In telling her story, I honor her courage to endure and her resilience under the most horrific of circumstances, and I continue to uncover and share the truth about how Black women’s bodies have been treated, not only in the past but with repercussions for all of us in the present day. There is nothing new under the sun. And the goal of understanding the nature of our history ensures that we don’t fall victim to the trauma-inducing gaslighting. It happens when Black women go into the world, whether in the boardrooms of corporate America or the local grocery store. The idea that a fixation on our bodies is all in our minds needs to end. Armed with the truth, our ability to distinguish fact from fiction is an integral part of our healing journey. None of this is in our imagination, because it has been happening since our first encounters with colonizers in our native land.

The tragedy of Sarah Baartman is not unique. Documented cases abound that show similar exploitation and objectification of the Black female body, perpetuating a stereotype that seeks to “other” us in body, spirit, and mind. These types of stereotypes run directly counter to the cultural tradition and philosophy of adoration, respect, and appreciation shown to the African woman in her fully glorious form. It’s important to understand that the purpose of a stereotype is simplification. The Oxford English Dictionary defines a stereotype as “a widely held but fixed and oversimplified image or idea of a particular type of person or thing.”¹⁴⁸ So, beyond the damage wrought by the racist, sexist, and misogynistic purposes of these types of archetypes, they also seek to paint Black women as one-dimensional and lacking in depth, dimension, and complexity. Keeping this in mind provides a perspective to better understand these images, innuendos, stories, and outright lies. Although it can be emotionally taxing to process such damaging portrayals, it is crucial to remember that these stereotypes are not reflective of the rich complexity and diversity of Black womanhood. By engaging in self-care practices, seeking supportive communities, and celebrating the true breadth of Black women’s experiences and identities, we can resist internalizing these harmful representations. These stereotypes can be objectively viewed for what they are—a smear campaign to create a false ideal about Black women. The end.

The following stereotypes are examples of the nefarious ways in which the majority culture seeks to further marginalize and emotionally damage Black women. These women have always served as the foundation of the Black family. By objectifying Black women, the goal has always been to destabilize the Black family and further drive a wedge between Black men and Black women, who, throughout antiquity and beyond to the present day, have always been unstoppable when united.

Mammy

The Mammy archetype described enslaved Black women who worked in the houses of plantation owners, often serving as nannies and providing maternal care to the white children of the family. They were characterized as receiving an unusual degree of trust and affection from their enslavers. Early accounts of the Mammy archetype come from memoirs and diaries that emerged after the American Civil War, idealizing the role of the dominant female “house slave”: a woman completely dedicated to the white family, especially the children, and given complete charge of domestic management. She was a “friend” and “advisor.”¹⁴⁹

Sapphire

The Sapphire stereotype is of a domineering Black female who consumes men and usurps their role, characterized as a strong, masculine workhorse who labored with Black men in the fields, or an aggressive woman whose overbearing drove away her children and partners.¹⁵⁰ Her assertive demeanor is similar to “the Mammy.” But she is portrayed as lacking maternal compassion and understanding.

Jezebel

Jezebel is a stereotype of a sexually voracious, promiscuous Black woman, and was the counterimage of the demure Victorian lady.¹⁵¹ The idea stemmed from Europeans’ first encounters with seminude women in tropical Africa. The African practice of polygamy was attributed to uncontrolled lust, and tribal dances were construed as pagan orgies. These traditional cultural practices were juxtaposed with the European Christian notion of chastity.

Content warning: sexual violence. During the era of slavery, degrading stereotypes about Black women’s sexuality were employed to legitimize abhorrent actions taken by enslavers, including forced reproduction and sexual violence. These stereotypes even found their way into the legal system, further perpetuating harm against Black women.¹⁵² Because white people claimed that Black women always wanted sex, it was impossible to prove that they were rape victims in court.¹⁵³ The Jezebel stereotype contrasts with the Mammy stereotype, providing two broad categories for pigeonholing Black women among whites.¹⁵⁴

Tragic Mulatta

A stereotype that was popular in early Hollywood, the “tragic mulatta,” served as a cautionary tale for Black people. She was usually depicted as a sexually attractive, light-skinned woman who was of African descent but could pass for Caucasian.¹⁵⁵ The stereotype portrayed light-skinned women as obsessed with getting ahead, with their ultimate goal being marriage to a white, middle-class man. The only route to redemption would be for her to accept her “Blackness.”

Strong Black Woman

The “Strong Black Woman” trope is a discourse on morality, self-help, economic empowerment, and assimilative values in the greater interest of racial uplift and pride.¹⁵⁶ In this portrait, originating in the Black Baptist church and evolving into a greater popular culture and media archetype, historians have documented the attempts of middle-class Black women to push back against dominant racist portrayals of Black women being immoral, promiscuous, unclean, lazy, and mannerless by engaging in public outreach campaigns that include literature that warns against brightly colored clothing, gum chewing, loud talking, and unclean homes, among other directives.¹⁵⁷ This discourse has been shown to be harmful, dehumanizing, and isolating, creating a culture of emotional disconnect and encouraging the festering of racial trauma both inside and outside the Black community.

The “Strong Black Woman” stereotype is a controlling image that perpetuates the idea that it is acceptable to mistreat Black women because we are strong and can handle it. This storyline can also act as a silencing method. When Black women are struggling to be heard because they go through things in life like everyone else, others remind them that they are strong instead of taking actions toward alleviating their challenges and making spaces emotionally safe.¹⁵⁸

Welfare Queen

The Welfare Queen stereotype depicts a Black woman who defrauds the public welfare system to support herself, having roots in both race and gender. This stereotype negatively portrays Black women as scheming and lazy, ignoring the statistically proven, historically verified, and systemically perpetuated genuine economic hardships that Black women, especially mothers, disproportionately face.¹⁵⁹

Angry Black Woman

In the twenty-first century, the “Angry Black Woman” has evolved into a stereotype depicting Black women as loud, aggressive, demanding, uncivilized, and physically threatening, as well as lower-middle-class and materialistic.¹⁶⁰ She will not stay in what is perceived as her “proper” place.¹⁶¹

Controlling images are stereotypes that are used against marginalized groups to portray social injustice as natural, normal, and inevitable. These images serve to erase individuality, silencing Black women and rendering them invisible within society. One misleading aspect of these controlling images is the erroneous suggestion that white women serve as the standard for all aspects of life, even when it comes to understanding oppression.¹⁶² By erasing Black women’s individuality, controlling images silence them and render them invisible in society.¹⁶³ The assumption that white women are the standard for everything including oppression overlooks the unique ways in which Black women encounter intersectional oppression, which combines race and gender and is not adequately captured by comparing it to the experiences of white women.¹⁶⁴

Studies demonstrate that white men and women have dominated the field of scholarship on these issues. Being a recognized academic includes social activism as well as scholarship. Scholars note that it is notably difficult for a Black woman to receive the resources needed to complete her research and to write the texts that she desires.¹⁶⁵ That, in part, is due to the silencing effect of the “Angry Black Woman” stereotype. Black women are skeptical of raising issues—also seen as complaining—in professional settings because of their fear of being judged.¹⁶⁶ For those of us who pursue social justice advocacy, we often find our experiences minimized and marginalized. We are relegated to living under the broad umbrella of inclusivity or emotional well-being without the context of race in America to frame exactly how centrally impactful the dynamic is to our overall mental health. That is a difficult position to hold, since white counterparts dominate the activist and social work realms of scholarship, reducing scholarship to cookie-cutter solutions without a focus on the voices of Black women, who need advocacy and relief from the pressures of a society dominated by viewpoints centering those in the majority.

Due to the Angry Black Woman stereotype, Black women tend to become desensitized to their own feelings to avoid judgment. They often feel that they must show no emotion outside of their comfortable spaces. That results in the accumulation of these feelings of hurt, which can be projected on loved ones as anger. Once seen as angry, Black women are always seen in that light, and their opinions, aspirations, and values are dismissed.¹⁶⁷ The repression of those feelings can also result in serious mental health issues, which creates a complex for the Strong Black Woman. As a common problem within the Black community, Black women seldom seek help for their mental health challenges.¹⁶⁸

In a recent Forbes article, author and diversity, equity and inclusion consultant Dr. Janice Gassam Asare further explains the harm being done to Black women as we endure the onslaught of trauma from being exposed daily to these negative stereotypes and facing the effects of, not only how we navigate the predominantly white spaces we inhabit, but also how we are perceived and received in those spaces. The results are at once illuminating, revealing, and frankly exhausting to fully grasp. It’s helpful to first revisit the difficult situation that Black women in particular face in order to frame these discussions and the process of understanding the results, using the negative effects of misogyny or intersectionality that Kimberlé Crenshaw first identified in 1989. She identifies how race, class, gender, and other intersecting systems shape the experiences of many, perpetuating privilege. Crenshaw used intersectionality to display the disadvantages caused by intersecting systems creating structural, political, and representational aspects of violence against minorities in the workplace and society.¹⁶⁹

Dr. Asare explains that, when trying to understand a person’s experiences, intersectionality is an important consideration. Intersectionality was initially defined as the unique forms of oppression that Black women face. The experiences that people with intersecting identities now face are the reason why the term has become more mainstream. Moya Bailey coined a newer term, misogynoir, to describe “the specific hatred, dislike, distrust, and prejudice directed toward Black women.” Anti-racism education and efforts must explore misogynoir, how it manifests, and how it can be mitigated.

Misogynoir is rampant in ways that may not even be realized. The hashtag #SayHerName was created in 2014 to highlight misogynoir and how stories of Black women and girls often go overlooked, unnoticed, and untold. These experiences range from police violence to sexual assault, and often go unreported. Two very apparent examples of misogynoir in the public sphere can be found in the stories of musician R. Kelly’s victims and, most recently, the events that transpired with rapper Megan Thee Stallion.

Throughout R. Kelly’s thirty-year career, a number of women and girls, mostly Black and underage, have made claims that R. Kelly has sexually abused them. Despite the growing number of accusations, it wasn’t until recently, when the 2019 documentary Surviving R. Kelly came out, that these stories were given credence. Black women and girls who share experiences of abuse, trauma, and assault are largely shunned, criticized, and ignored. These experiences are questioned, scrutinized, and dissected more than any other group.¹⁷⁰

According to the National Black Women’s Justice Institute, Black women and girls have been stereotyped as promiscuous and hypersexual for centuries, and that stereotype continues today. The “Strong Black Woman” stereotype means that we are less likely to be seen as victims. Our mental health and well-being are minimized or disregarded. Our trauma remains unacknowledged and unaddressed. And the very institutions and organizations in charge of providing us with that protection—such as schools, hospitals, and mental health facilities—leave us unprotected.

Sexual trauma is frequently associated with PTSD, depression, substance misuse, suicide ideation and attempts, and other adverse health effects. For Black women, the added effects of sexism and racism can heighten depressive and PTSD symptoms. When trauma is unaddressed, it leaves us more at risk of interaction with law enforcement and the legal system because, often, the way we express our trauma does not conform to traditional clinical symptoms. As a result, we are criminalized instead of receiving the treatment and care we need and deserve.

Additionally, the strategies that Black women and girls take to survive are often criminalized, creating an abuse-to-incarceration pipeline that overwhelmingly targets Black women and girls.¹⁷¹ And this snowball effect of trauma begins with the adultification of Black girls by a society that views them as older, more mature, and less deserving of protection. According to the landmark Georgetown University study “Girlhood Interrupted: The Erasure of Black Girls’ Childhood,” scholars found substantial evidence of adultification of Black girls. The study reveals how society often prematurely assigns adult characteristics to young Black girls, consequently erasing their childhood. Noting that our society “regularly responds to Black girls as if they are fully developed adults,” Dr. Monique W. Morris has observed, “The assignment of more adult-like characteristics to the expressions of young Black girls is a form of age compression. Along this truncated age continuum, Black girls are likened more to adults than to children, and are treated as if they are willfully engaging in behaviors typically expected of Black women. This compression [has] stripped Black girls of their childhood freedoms [and] rendered Black girlhood interchangeable with Black womanhood.”¹⁷²

These perceptions, often resulting in Black girls being viewed as older than they are, demonstrate that stereotypes of them as “loud” carry adult-like connotations and cause them to be seen as a threat. In a recent study focused on teacher-student interactions by Professor Edward W. Morris, one teacher’s comment stood out: “[Black girls] think they are adults too, and they try to act like they should have control sometimes.” This comment was made in the context of classroom management, showing how Black girls’ assertiveness can be misconstrued as inappropriate maturity.¹⁷³ Such comments demonstrate that stereotypes of Black girls, interpreted as “loud,” are imbued with adult-like aspirations and perceived, in turn, as a threat. The same study recorded teachers’ descriptions of Black girls as exhibiting “very ‘mature’ behavior that is socially (but not academically) sophisticated and ‘controlling at a young age.’ ” This interpretation of Black girls’ outspokenness may be associated with the stereotype of Black women as aggressive and dominating.¹⁷⁴¹⁷⁵

Another harmful aspect of adultification for Black girls lies in the culturally embedded stereotypes about Black girls’ sexualization.¹⁷⁶ The commonly held stereotype of Black girls as hypersexualized is defined by “society’s attribution of sex as part of the ‘natural’ role of Black women and girls.”¹⁷⁷ Noting the long history of perceiving Black women as hypersexualized, Monique W. Morris has observed that adultification results in applying these stereotypes to Black girls:

Caricatures of Black femininity are often deposited into distinct chambers of our public consciousness, narrowly defining Black female identity and movement according to the stereotypes described by Pauli Murray as “female dominance” on the one hand and loose morals on the other hand, both growing out of the roles forced upon them during the slavery experience and its aftermath. As such, in the public’s collective consciousness, latent ideas about Black females as hypersexual, conniving, loud, and sassy predominate. However, age compression renders Black girls just as vulnerable to these aspersive representations.¹⁷⁸

The images and historical stereotypes of Black women aren’t just relics of the past. They continue to have real-life consequences for Black girls today. According to Blake and colleagues, “these stereotypes underlie the implicit bias that shapes many adult views of Black females [as] …sexually promiscuous, hedonistic, and in need of socialization.”¹⁷⁹

In essence, “the adultification stereotype results in some [Black] children not being afforded the opportunity” to make mistakes and to learn, grow, and benefit from correction for youthful missteps to the same degree as white children. The Georgetown University study shows that Black girls experience this stereotype directly.¹⁸⁰

We know that these stereotypes have been used to silence our strong forces and create resistance to our embracing the full power of the divine feminine that resides inside all of us as women of the African diaspora. So how do we harness that power while disavowing and divesting from these harmful, toxic, and false representations? It starts with amplifying our voices, embracing our individuality, and consciously rejecting these harmful stereotypes. For me, this mindset shift meant decolonizing and recalibrating my mind. It involved surrounding myself with positive representations of Black womanhood, seeking out inspiring stories and powerful figures from our history, and reminding myself daily that we are the descendants of humanity’s birthplace.

To protect our peace, it is very necessary to begin the process of decolonizing our minds: replacing old thoughts and beliefs with traditional Afrocentric ideals rooted in our authentically native ancestry. In thinking about my own identity as a Black woman, I’d often fallen victim to many of the stereotypes and carried those narratives with me both mentally and physically. It affects how we show up, our own ideals about womanhood, our mental and emotional well-being, and even our very identity.

At times, we feel like ships adrift in the sea. We know how we feel inside, but we don’t feel that our actions match our intent as we move. Are we being too loud, too quiet, too outspoken, or not assertive enough? Are we dressed appropriately? Do we meet the expectations of our community? What about our families? And even more intimidating, how do we appear to the world? All of the confusion about what we represent in our physical and symbolic essence can be absolutely exhausting. And without anywhere to seek answers to those questions, we often internalize this disconnect, thinking there is something inherently wrong with us when what has actually happened is a trauma response to a society that has created a rendition that is entirely not of our making.

The process of deconstructing these ideas began in my Black community in Fort Lauderdale, where I was nurtured and encouraged about my identity and greatness. I was told that not only was I worthy, I was more than worthy. And although I didn’t see myself represented in society at large, everyone close to me reflected positive energy centered on my perfect existence. It wasn’t until I ventured out of those safe spaces into environments that didn’t look like me that I started to doubt the perfection of my identity. I had always been charged with the responsibility of loving not only myself, but everyone else around me who looked like me. I was part of a resilient community that, despite material limitations, showered me with love, wisdom, and a strong sense of belonging.

Going into predominantly white spaces, the clarion call was the opposite. On the first day of orientation, I was told to look both left and right, and that neither student would be there at graduation. In my classes, I was anonymous—one of thousands. The safest course of action was to blend in with everyone around me. The only problem with that philosophy was that it was impossible. And even if it were possible, I knew deep inside that I would never want that to happen.

To counter these feelings of displacement and loss, Simphiwe Sesanti, a professor at the University of the Western Cape (UWC)’s Faculty of Education, calls for “Decolonized and Afrocentric Education: For Centering African Women in Remembering, Re-Membering, and the African Renaissance.” Decolonization was a widespread effort, spanning both the African continent and its diaspora. It was a fight against the influences of European slavery and colonialism. This movement symbolized an African Renaissance—a rebirth and reclamation of our culture. Colonialism and colonization dismembered Africans through land dispossession and forcible relocation into slavery. Both the physical and cultural dismemberment were entrenched and sustained through Eurocentric education, which sought to displace Africans’ cultural memory by replacing it with European cultural memory. Decolonization struggles were an expression of an African Renaissance because they sought to “regain” and “restore” not only physical but also cultural freedom.¹⁸¹

The revolutionary Pan-Africanist scholar, academic, and activist, W. E. B. Du Bois, declared in his book The Souls of Black Folk, first published in 1903, that “THE PROBLEM of the twentieth century is the problem of the color line—the relation of the darker to lighter races of men in Asia and Africa, in America and the islands of the sea.”¹⁸²