The Set-Up

On Sunday, July 21, President Joe Biden announced that he would not be seeking reelection - a decision that followed the disastrous one-and-done debate against former president Donald Trump, the subsequent wavering of major donors, and growing calls for a new candidate to run on the Democrat’s ticket. Hours after Biden’s announcement, Vice President Kamala Harris would send Beyoncé's internet into a frenzy by announcing that she would seek the party’s nomination.

That July night, 44,000 Black women assembled via Zoom to stress test the limits of the meeting app, break historical fundraising records, and strategize - subsequently setting into motion a series of virtual meet-ups. As a result, more Zoom meetings cropped up, bringing together attendees connected through countless combinations of backgrounds, orientations, and genders.

One said meeting was held by and for 164,000 “White Women for Kamala” who’d come together to publicly declare that they’d regretted not doing more in 2016 and were ready to use their privilege for the sake of advocacy and allyship.

For months, white women made it a point to convince Black women that they were on board - ensuring us that they were ready to seize their second chance at pushing back on the pillars of the patriarchy. The same group who’d failed to answer the call of rejecting Trump’s racist, sexist, and xenophobic antics before swore, for months, that they’d seen the error of their ways and were looking for redemption. The alleged fix? Betting better. Doing more. Voting differently.

While there was an understanding undertone of apprehension from Black women, the rhetoric began to lend itself to hope — with some going so far as to lift the moratorium on cookout invites. There seemed to be a collective sigh. A brief moment of unity.

The Let-Down

Little did Black women know, they were about to be played like a fiddle by the same group who, like in 2016 and 2020, were more interested in their own self-preservation than in actual change. This short-lived hope was dashed on Nov. 5 as the true nature of performative allyship became evident.

Turns out, the Black women who’d served at the helm of the movement, bless their hearts, had been bamboozled. Hoodwinked. Swindled. Like a modern-day Boo Boo the Fool. Believing the hook, line, and sinker, it was almost cute, in a tragic sort of way. They saw the potential, the hope, and the promise, drinking the red Kool-Aid, so to speak, eagerly awaiting the revolution.

The excessive blue hearts and social media commentary pledging solidarity had turned out to be performative or had over-indexed the voices of the 44% who were actually in solidarity. Either way, the seemingly overwhelming allyship wasn’t there, reminding Black women that while they are constantly expected to stand on the front lines for so many, rarely is there any ally who will actually show up for them.

A History of Short-Lived, Self-Serving Allyship 

The 2024 election wasn’t the first time we’d seen this type of performative allyship, though. While a noble concept in theory, the kinds of allyship that have been displayed in many movements across The States have far too often missed the actual point. In fact, throughout U.S. history, allyship has actually been used more as a tool to bolster a single group’s positioning in the social hierarchy rather than genuinely advocating for the progression of marginalized groups.

Think back to 2020. Just months after the COVID-19 pandemic forced much of the country into isolation, remote work, the acknowledgment of essential workers as, well, essential, and, for some reason, bread-making. For 9 minutes and 29 seconds, the world watched, helplessly, as a powerless George Floyd was slowly pulled away from the world, drained by Officer Derek Chauvin's knee to his nape. In a traumatic 8 minutes and 46 seconds, the world seemingly changed.

Protests quickly spread across the globe, and along with it, a wave of “allyship” swept across America. Large corporations, scrambling to answer the calls of Black employees, consumers, and investors demanding that they use their financial prowess to do more to prevent the next Floyd, almost instantly began releasing statements of solidarity, pledging donations to “racial justice” causes, and promising to promote more Black employees.

However, as quickly as these gestures showed up, most were forgotten, with almost all proving to have provided minimal impact on the groups they’d pledged to help. While some companies, like Target, increased their spending on Black-owned businesses, others faced scrutiny for their lack of substantive change.

A study by Color Of Change found that only 17% of companies that pledged donations after Floyd's death had fulfilled their commitments. Data compiled by the Washington Post found that two years after America’s 50 largest publicly traded companies pledged a collective $50 billion to racial justice causes, just 37 had disbursed a collective $1.7 billion. What’s worse?

Ninety percent of the pledged amount - or $45.2 billion - had been allocated in the form of mortgages, loans, and investments that the companies themselves would more than likely benefit from. These companies said one thing and did another and still found a way to benefit from the delta.

Performative Allyship: Civil Rights & Women’s Liberation Movements

This type of allyship is new, though. It didn’t take long for powerful groups to figure out that the simple appearance of allyship was, for the most part, good for business and the bottom line. For decades, powerful entities have publicly supported movements only to be later found to have engaged in discriminatory practices, highlighting the consistent disconnect.

During the Civil Rights Movement, companies issued statements of solidarity and even donated to civil rights organizations, but behind the scenes, they continued to segregate their workforces and refuse to hire Black employees for higher-level positions. During the Women's Liberation Movement, advertisers capitalized on the feminist moment by incorporating imagery and slogans associated with women's empowerment into their campaigns, while the underlying message of many advertisements reinforced traditional gender roles and stereotypes.

The difference between what is said and what is done has time after time exposed the shallowness of allyship, highlighting how it has mostly served as a tool for public relations rather than a genuine commitment to social justice and to the marginalized groups who are most at risk by the upholding of the status quo.

For two election cycles straight, white women posed as allies and still voted in a way that upheld the power structure that they benefit from - with many understanding that the survival of white supremacy is of more value to them than sexism and misogyny is a threat. In 2016 and 2020, 52% and 55% of white women, respectively, decided that they’d rather keep their position of second place in the social hierarchy than risk dismantling it and being forced to find a new place in society.

Latino women and women of “all of the races” followed the trend - blatantly ignoring the warnings of the same Black women who have not only been on the front lines of social justice but who are often called into the lead movements in communities that are not there own - increasing their support for Trump between 2016 and 2025 by 13% and 15% respectively.

The Blue Bracelets are Going to Be A “No” 

On the night of Nov. 5, 2024, Black women watched their country look at a qualified, experienced, capable, and willing Black woman and say, “Nah, we good.” It was on this night that a group that had been denied democratic rights for centuries, but had still attempted to rescue American democracy far too many times, only to be let down, put away the warnings, and began issuing a new declaration - they were opting out.

Black women have decided to lean into rest and recuperation - uninterested in any additional work that will, more than likely, end in disappointment and betrayal. For many Black women, the suggestion to wear blue bracelets as a symbol of solidarity is patronizing and dismissive of a greater and more complex issue. It’s a way to absolve the women who let Black women down for failing to keep promises made while simultaneously positioning the wearer as morally superior.

It fails to address the historically deep betrayal that Black women have experienced at the hands of their country and, more specifically, their own countrywomen. The request reduces the fight for equality to a simple, superficial gesture when allyship isn’t aesthetic and Black women deserve more than a symbol.

While the blue bracelets may be the new fashion choice for white women attempting to set themselves apart, to symbolize that they were on the right side of history, for many Black women, it’ll always be difficult to trust. In fact, it may serve as a symbol of a hollow and fleeting promise for the Black women who have done the tireless and thankless work for justice and equality.

For now, Black women are choosing themselves. Anywhere between a few days and the next four years should be enough time to reset and recoup. And who knows, they may even find the excess capacity means energy to train as pilots, restart forgotten yoga practices, expand the business, or earn that second Ph.D.

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