Black women have always had to fight to be heard. To be believed. To be seen as victims.
The American legal system has a long history of disregarding the voices of Black women when they report violence. Their pain is dismissed, their credibility is questioned, and their cases are often ignored. When white women cried rape, the courts moved swiftly, punishing Black men—guilty or not. But when Black women spoke out about their own assaults, the system turned its back on them.
This is not a historical accident. It is a pattern. A system designed to uphold white supremacy while denying Black women protection under the law.
The Historical Pattern: Doubting Black Women
The disbelief of Black women has deep roots. Since slavery, white society has refused to acknowledge their pain. Enslaved Black women were legally unrapeable in the eyes of the law—because their bodies were seen as property, not human. Their suffering was either ignored or explained away.
Even after slavery, Black women’s experiences were routinely discredited. Courts upheld the idea that Black women were naturally promiscuous, untrustworthy, and unworthy of protection. If they accused a white man of violence, they were ignored. If they accused a Black man, their words were used as tools of oppression.
This disbelief extended beyond individual cases. When Black women reported sexual violence, their credibility was often attacked in ways that reinforced broader stereotypes. The “Jezebel” myth painted them as overly sexual, implying they had invited assault rather than suffered from it. The legal system reinforced these racist ideas by making it nearly impossible for Black women to be seen as victims.
Take Recy Taylor, a 24-year-old Black woman kidnapped and gang-raped by six white men in 1944 Alabama. Despite her immediate report and multiple eyewitnesses, two all-white grand juries refused to indict the perpetrators. Taylor’s case sparked national outrage, but no justice was ever served. The legal system simply did not care.
In 1949, Gertrude Perkins was walking home in Montgomery, Alabama, when two white police officers forced her into their car and raped her. She bravely reported the crime, but like so many before her, she was met with silence. The grand jury dismissed the case. The police faced no consequences.
And then there was Lula Mae Artes. In 1951, she was abducted at gunpoint by white soldiers, attacked in a field, and left traumatized. She reported it immediately. The men who harmed her were identified. Some even confessed. But when her case went to trial, the jury refused to convict them of rape. Instead, they were found guilty of a misdemeanor—as if what happened to her was nothing more than a minor offense.
These were not isolated incidents. They were part of a legal system that fundamentally refused to recognize Black women as victims.
Black Women’s Testimonies Were Never Enough
The struggle to be believed did not end in the courtroom. Even outside the legal system, Black women who spoke out faced harsh consequences.
Civil rights activist Rosa Parks is most widely remembered for refusing to give up her bus seat in Montgomery, but before that, she worked as an investigator for the NAACP. Her role? Documenting cases of sexual violence against Black women. She fought for Recy Taylor. She fought for Gertrude Perkins. But the cases rarely made it past local courts.
Parks understood what too many already knew—when Black women spoke, no one listened.
The Double Standard of Justice
The legal system operated on a double standard when it came to race and gender.
If a Black man was even accused of harming a white woman, the law moved swiftly. No evidence was needed. No confession. No witnesses. The mere accusation was enough to send Black men to death row. The Scottsboro Boys, accused of raping two white women in 1931 despite no medical evidence, spent years fighting for their lives. The truth—that the accusation was a lie—did not matter.
But when a Black woman accused a white man? The system suddenly required mountains of proof. It became her word against his. And in America, a Black woman’s word meant little in a courtroom designed to protect white men.
The NAACP sometimes took up these cases, but its primary legal battles focused on defending Black men accused of rape, not Black women who were victims of white violence. This left Black women even more vulnerable, fighting a battle with little institutional support.
Why This Still Matters
The struggle for Black women to be believed did not end in the Jim Crow era. It continues today. Studies show that Black women’s reports of sexual assault and domestic violence are still taken less seriously. Their credibility is still questioned. Their pain is still ignored.
The #MeToo movement revealed how deeply sexual violence is embedded in American society. But even within that movement, Black women’s voices were pushed to the margins. Their stories were often overlooked, just as they had been throughout history.
Recy Taylor’s story was almost lost. Gertrude Perkins’ story was almost lost. Lula Mae Artes’ story was almost lost. How many more have been erased? How many Black women today still suffer in silence, knowing that if they speak, no one will listen?
Black Women Matter
Black women have never stopped fighting for justice. They have never stopped speaking out. But the real question is—who is listening?
If the legal system does not protect them, if the courts refuse to believe them, if society continues to ignore them, then what does justice even mean? Until Black women’s voices are truly heard, the question will remain the same: When a Black woman speaks, who listens?
History has answered that question time and time again. It is up to us to change that answer.
Learn More About These Cases
These stories are part of a larger history of racial terror in America—one that cannot be forgotten. If you want to learn more, we’ve covered these cases in detail in our in-depth video series. Check them out to see the full scope of what happened and why it still matters today. Understanding history is key to preventing its repetition, so we encourage you to watch, share, and continue the conversation.
