Misogynoir: Reflecting on Pushout: The Criminalization of Black Girls in Schools

I first met Yaania Bell when I was five years old. She was loud, creative, and boisterous. She often wore her hair in two buns, and to this day, that’s how I remember her. That version of her only exists in my mind, though. Now, she’s nineteen years old, with a shaved head, mesmerizing eyes, and a gap between her two front teeth I’ve always loved. I’m glad she didn’t close the gap-it’s a remnant of the little girl I knew. The last time I saw her in person we were 11 or 12 years old. I remember how brilliant and unique I thought she was, but I knew she struggled to get that through to our teachers. And so did I. She left our middle school in sixth or seventh grade, and I envied her. I didn’t want to attend this school anymore. But I didn’t want to receive the cruelty that she did, even though it was behind her back. She went to “special school,” meaning a school specifically designed for students with learning disabilities. At that time, my peers were ruthless. Their superiority was sickening, and I absorbed it. Yaania is incredibly successful as both as an artist and a person; she is attending NYU Tisch. Last week, I messaged her and wrote, “I never told you this but I often see our neurodivergence as intertwined when I tell my story. You were one of the first students if not the first that I knew that might have had a learning disability and I firmly believe that my school’s racism allowed me to stay and ‘required’ you to go. Either way, whenever I tell my story, I always tell yours from my point of view.” We talked for hours, catching up on six years as if no time had passed. We especially chatted about how her experience relates to Pushout. The damage done to Black girls, including Yaania, is appalling and reprehensible. 

In her book Pushout, Monique W. Morris examines the difficulties that Black girls face simply by existing. She nestles her analysis squarely in the context of the way Black femininity is perceived, both currently and historically. Black girls face both the sexism of a patriarchal society and the anti-Blackness of a racist society, as well as the intersection of those two concepts. Enter: misogynoir. Misogynoir is defined as “... the anti-Black racist misogyny that Black women experience,” a term coined by Dr. Moya Bailey. It is a unique experience, perpetuated by both white women, white men, and Black men, as well as non-conforming people. Morris skillfully crafts a narrative that critiques the male-centric literature regarding the school-to-prison pipeline and the criminalization of Black adolescents. She uses the term, “unique pathways to confinement” frequently because many Black girls do not go to prison, but follow the model of the school-to-prison pipeline. Her book intends to “...inspire us all to think about the multiple ways in which racial, gender, and socioeconomic inequity converge to marginalize Black girls in their learning environments…” (13). 

Morris frequently draws on the historical stereotypes of Black women and Black femininity and their repercussions for modern Black girls. In Mammies, Matriarchs, and Other Controlling Images by Patricia Collins, she discusses the harmful implications of stereotypes of Black women and their historical functions. For my Writing 101 class, in response to this article, I wrote about the Madonna-Whore Complex, which describes all women as either “pure” (the Madonna) or “dirty” (the Whore). Young Black girls are still demonized for being sexual, for being asexual, for being masculine, for being feminine, for being a mother, for not being a mother. The Black woman is demonized for anything she does.

Morris’ brilliant and empathetic narrative leaves little to critique. However, I would have loved to hear more about Black girls in private schools. Yaania’s experience is one I have heard reiterated by other Black students, specifically Black girls. They often feel out of place in these institutions of great wealth, where they may be in classes with some of the wealthiest students in the country. Additionally, private schools are predominantly white institutions, not just in terms of student demographics, but in terms of faculty and staff demographics. They feel out of place, I’ve heard, not seeing themselves reflected in the school in any capacity. Additionally, as Morris addresses in her book, Black girls are underdiagnosed with mental health disorders, and I would hypothesize that extends to learning disabilities as well. Instead of using resources to support and aid Black students, private schools often let them fail out because its easier and replace them with other Black students, like at my middle school. In private schools, many students have tutors and college counselors that can basically guarantee an A or an acceptance. I’m not saying these aren’t smart, hardworking students, but their privileges grant them access to numerous opportunities that students of color are not given.