The other day, I overheard a group of people discussing the presidential election. One of them, in a rather dismissive tone, said, “America will never elect a Black woman.” I almost reacted, but I reminded myself that his words were not intended for me and went on my way. But his words brought me back to a theory I’ve been exploring lately: intersectionality.
Intersectionality is the idea that our experiences of discrimination are shaped by multiple overlapping social categories like race, gender, class, and sexuality. For example, a woman in a male-dominated world may face certain barriers, but a Black woman will experience compounded forms of discrimination—what I call a “double whammy.” And as a woman living with a disability, I am no stranger to this concept myself.
The legal scholar Kimberlé Crenshaw introduced the term intersectionality in 1989. In her paper, “Demarginalizing the Intersection of Race and Sex,” she argues that traditional legal frameworks fail to account for the complexity of overlapping identities, especially for Black women. She explains it best:
“Consider an analogy to traffic at an intersection, coming and going in all directions. Discrimination, like traffic, may flow in one direction or another. If an accident happens, it could be caused by cars traveling from any number of directions—or all of them at once.”
See why I like my “double whammy” metaphor?
Growing up as a girl, I encountered subtle forms of gender-based discrimination, though I didn’t always recognize it. But when I became disabled at 18 due to a traumatic brain injury, discrimination was impossible to ignore. As I regained my physical abilities, the outward signs of my disability faded, and with them, much of the ableism I had faced. However, being a woman in a world that often devalues female voices brought its own set of challenges. When I learned about intersectionality roughly ten years ago, everything clicked into place.
Vice President Kamala Harris’s journey to the second-highest office in the U.S. wasn’t easy. Regardless of one’s political views, her success as a woman of color in such a high-stakes role should be respected. It serves as a testament to how far we’ve come as a country. Yet, the comments I overheard on campus remind me that we still have a long way to go. Our political discourse has become dangerously polarized. While it’s fine to disagree on policies, we must be cautious not to devolve into personal attacks rooted in racism and sexism. Respect for Harris’s achievements should transcend political lines and remind us that the fight for equality is far from over. I encourage all readers to reflect on their own biases and engage more respectfully in political conversations.