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How We Get Free: Black Feminism and the Combahee River Collective by Keeanga-Yamahtta Taylor
smiley7245's review against another edition
informative
3.0
Interviews are not my jam. Historical documents and primary sources are. So this was a bit of a mixed bag for me. I really enjoyed the introduction with it's background information and the actual Combahee River Collective Statement, but I did not enjoy the interviews; they were too meandering. Three of the four interviews were women from the CRC, and the final was one of the founders of BLM. My favorite interview was Beverly Smith (the second interview) because she was not only the most accessible, but she stayed on topic the best, and her approach to the interview resonated more than the others. Despite the fact that interviews are not my favorite way to consume information, this was interesting and I am glad that I read it.
ingread27's review against another edition
4.0
This book weaves together the history of black feminism with what's going on today. Most of the book is made up of interviews with some founders of the collective. There's so much incredible knowledge in these women, and I learned a lot. However, I did not appreciate the format, which for the most part was transcripts of the interviews. The editing was poor in my opinion. There was a lot of "let me see now..." or "I think it was ...." and so on. Easily edited out. It must have been rushed, or the editor was afraid of modifying a single word of the transcript. Either way, it took away from the message and watered down the momentum.
mxunsmiley's review against another edition
5.0
Listened to audiobook.
A look into the shared perspectives, ideologies, and motivations of three of the founding members of the Combahee River Collective—Barbara Smith, Beverly Smith, and Demita Frazier—as well as their influences on one of the founders of the Black Lives Matter movement, Alicia Garza, How We Get Free demonstrates the centrality of economic analysis within Black feminism, as well as its understanding of the “interlocking” nature of oppression: the proto “intersectionality” before its coinage by Kimberlé Crenshaw.
Listening to each women’s stories of their first encounters and involvement in feminism supported the assertion that “the personal is political”—Black women’s individual issues are thus identified collectively, in that individual suffering is never a matter of personal failing or responsibility, but rather part of the wider societal oppression that Black women face. Their arrival at political organizing is always personal, after experiencing and questioning the misogynoir as constant refrains in both childhood and adulthood—and this is not an issue of “individualism,” but rather leads each to see their part in the greater whole, in their stakes in every battle that every marginalized group faces.
The confusion around and misinterpretation of “identity politics” are thoroughly addressed and turned on their head. The Combahee River Collective recognized the diminution of Black women’s issues and oppression by coining this term—that one’s identity is socially constructed and often forcibly imposed, with all the deadly stereotypes associated with each, and so one’s politics are, by necessity, centered around these material experiences and conditions. They do not posit “identity” as willful and conscious identification—but observation of shared experiences among Black women specifically, and because no one else was too concerned about their disenfranchisement and suffering, as they describe misogynoir they encounter even in Black Power and nationalist organizations, they centered themselves with these analyses of “interlocking” factors at play in their lives.
Each personal account is interesting in how the women articulate their challenges in the academy and various organizations, both white and Black-dominated, and how these led them to carve their own space—as the National Black Feminist Organization did not have the “economic analysis” that the founders of Combahee identified as crucial to a Black feminist framework. These women were antagonized as Black women, as Black lesbians, even with all the work they did in feminist and civil rights organizing… but they forged a space where Black queer women’s experiences and analyses took priority and became such an enormous influence on concepts like intersectionality and internationalism.
“Work[ing] with people across differences” is the “only way we can win… [the] only way we can survive,” as noted by Barbara Smith. The knee-jerk reaction to “identity politics” still persists ironically when these women, majority of whom were Black lesbians, enveloped themselves quite deeply in battles that did not directly concern them—while also rejecting the biological determinism of second wave feminism—as they knew that such battles were tied to the wider issue of bodily autonomy, a core issue of feminism—and this is because they recognized that all oppressions are connected!
Anti-imperialism is also emphasized, and notions of internationalism first crop up with the coinage of “Third World Women” and the publication of the collection This Bridge Called My Back by Kitchen Table Press, a publishing house prioritizing the works of queer Black women and other women of color. The extensive and widespread analysis within the Combahee River Collective statement touches on so many points that it’s no surprise that it is remembered to this day—but Alicia Garza does correctly point out how today, “not enough of us are anti-imperialist,” particularly when the imperial power that is the United States is terrorizing the world further and further and deliberately discouraging and disrupting internationalist solidarity. It was harrowing to hear her wonder at what capitalism will look like during the coming Trump presidency—it has only become more and more devastating and clearly fascist.
Collaboration and coalitions are constantly underlined in each interview, giving context to the necessity of each, and thus the notions of “non-hierarchical leadership” are given substance with the evidence of their efforts working with people across identities and differences. As Barbara Ransby notes in her comments toward the end, “Never be afraid to critique and struggle with those you love”—and love is the focal point of Combahee’s politics, love for those across differences and for themselves, as Black women.
A look into the shared perspectives, ideologies, and motivations of three of the founding members of the Combahee River Collective—Barbara Smith, Beverly Smith, and Demita Frazier—as well as their influences on one of the founders of the Black Lives Matter movement, Alicia Garza, How We Get Free demonstrates the centrality of economic analysis within Black feminism, as well as its understanding of the “interlocking” nature of oppression: the proto “intersectionality” before its coinage by Kimberlé Crenshaw.
Listening to each women’s stories of their first encounters and involvement in feminism supported the assertion that “the personal is political”—Black women’s individual issues are thus identified collectively, in that individual suffering is never a matter of personal failing or responsibility, but rather part of the wider societal oppression that Black women face. Their arrival at political organizing is always personal, after experiencing and questioning the misogynoir as constant refrains in both childhood and adulthood—and this is not an issue of “individualism,” but rather leads each to see their part in the greater whole, in their stakes in every battle that every marginalized group faces.
The confusion around and misinterpretation of “identity politics” are thoroughly addressed and turned on their head. The Combahee River Collective recognized the diminution of Black women’s issues and oppression by coining this term—that one’s identity is socially constructed and often forcibly imposed, with all the deadly stereotypes associated with each, and so one’s politics are, by necessity, centered around these material experiences and conditions. They do not posit “identity” as willful and conscious identification—but observation of shared experiences among Black women specifically, and because no one else was too concerned about their disenfranchisement and suffering, as they describe misogynoir they encounter even in Black Power and nationalist organizations, they centered themselves with these analyses of “interlocking” factors at play in their lives.
Each personal account is interesting in how the women articulate their challenges in the academy and various organizations, both white and Black-dominated, and how these led them to carve their own space—as the National Black Feminist Organization did not have the “economic analysis” that the founders of Combahee identified as crucial to a Black feminist framework. These women were antagonized as Black women, as Black lesbians, even with all the work they did in feminist and civil rights organizing… but they forged a space where Black queer women’s experiences and analyses took priority and became such an enormous influence on concepts like intersectionality and internationalism.
“Work[ing] with people across differences” is the “only way we can win… [the] only way we can survive,” as noted by Barbara Smith. The knee-jerk reaction to “identity politics” still persists ironically when these women, majority of whom were Black lesbians, enveloped themselves quite deeply in battles that did not directly concern them—while also rejecting the biological determinism of second wave feminism—as they knew that such battles were tied to the wider issue of bodily autonomy, a core issue of feminism—and this is because they recognized that all oppressions are connected!
Anti-imperialism is also emphasized, and notions of internationalism first crop up with the coinage of “Third World Women” and the publication of the collection This Bridge Called My Back by Kitchen Table Press, a publishing house prioritizing the works of queer Black women and other women of color. The extensive and widespread analysis within the Combahee River Collective statement touches on so many points that it’s no surprise that it is remembered to this day—but Alicia Garza does correctly point out how today, “not enough of us are anti-imperialist,” particularly when the imperial power that is the United States is terrorizing the world further and further and deliberately discouraging and disrupting internationalist solidarity. It was harrowing to hear her wonder at what capitalism will look like during the coming Trump presidency—it has only become more and more devastating and clearly fascist.
Collaboration and coalitions are constantly underlined in each interview, giving context to the necessity of each, and thus the notions of “non-hierarchical leadership” are given substance with the evidence of their efforts working with people across identities and differences. As Barbara Ransby notes in her comments toward the end, “Never be afraid to critique and struggle with those you love”—and love is the focal point of Combahee’s politics, love for those across differences and for themselves, as Black women.
emath98's review against another edition
challenging
hopeful
informative
inspiring
reflective
slow-paced
4.5
fowzee's review against another edition
5.0
an assemblage of (her)stories following the very powerful Combahee River Collective statement. so inspiring to read how these women put black feminism into praxis, how they navigated heteropatriarchy (within both black & white spaces), how they rethought and converted feminism towards anti-racism, anti-imperialism, anti-capitalism. so beautiful, I love black women :)
cadiemc's review against another edition
challenging
informative
inspiring
reflective
fast-paced
4.0