The One About Digital Black Feminism

When we talk about the digital world, it’s easy to assume that innovation belongs to tech giants, software developers, and Silicon Valley. But Digital Black Feminism flips that assumption on its head. The book reminds us that Black women have always been present in spaces of revolution and change—social, political, industrial—and yes, digital too. The idea that Black women are late to the tech world and in need of “charity access” is just not true. In fact, we’ve always been here, pushing boundaries and pioneering thought, even if the world refuses to see us that way.

Digital Black Feminism challenges that invisibility and corrects the narrative. Black women are not guests in the digital space—we are architects of it. The work we do online is an extension of Black feminist traditions, not something separate or secondary. The digital space is just the latest platform where our ideas, labor, and wisdom thrive. Whether it’s tweets, blog posts, YouTube essays, or TikTok breakdowns, Black women are thinking deeply, sharing knowledge, and shaping culture. And that labor deserves to be respected.

One of the most important things Digital Black Feminism does is shift the spotlight. As Steele writes, “we begin to rightly position Black women online as central to the future of communication technology” (2). That means no more treating digital Black feminist work as a side note or a “cute” add-on to real activism or scholarship. It's part of the foundation. And even more, Steele reminds us that “digital Black feminist thinkers’ online writing [is] central to the ongoing work of liberation” (3). We’re often told that change comes from the top down—from academic papers, from policy, from institutions. But liberation also comes from YouTube commentaries, Twitter threads, and podcasts. From places that are often dismissed as casual or unserious.

And speaking of academia: not every Black feminist online has a degree, and that doesn’t make their work any less valuable. There’s a kind of classism that creeps into these conversations, where those without formal credentials are treated like their insight isn’t enough. But as Steele puts it, “Black feminist thinkers have always existed outside of the academy” (3). It’s a reminder that Black women’s knowledge has always existed in spaces beyond the classroom—in kitchens, in churches, in beauty salons, and now, in online communities.

The book also addresses the real and harmful ways the digital space affects Black women. While the internet can be a tool for connection and change, it also magnifies the same systems of oppression we face offline—racism, sexism, classism. Steele writes, “as the public is becoming more aware of algorithmic bias, influencer culture, the gig economy, fake news online, and social media harassment, researchers continue to point to a disproportionate impact on Black women” (4). These platforms we use to tell our stories also try to silence us. They profit off our creativity while exposing us to targeted violence and erasure.

Yet even with all that, we continue to show up. We continue to teach. One quote that really stuck with me was:

“However, popularized phrases and hashtags lauding Black women for their decisions do not do the work of explaining the centuries of wisdom, labor, and ingenuity that have put Black women in a position to do the long-suffering and thankless task of attempting to save America from itself” (5).

It captures the exhaustion of constantly being called to do the work—of showing up, explaining, leading—and rarely being recognized for it. People love to say “listen to Black women,” but they don’t want to sit with the weight of what that actually means. It’s not just catchy hashtags—it’s centuries of effort, often unseen, often unpaid.

What I appreciate about Digital Black Feminism is that it doesn’t just diagnose problems—it offers a way forward. The solution? Center Black women in conversations about Black women. Don’t wait for validation from outside sources to affirm our impact. Don’t compare us to others to prove we’re doing something meaningful. We’ve always been meaningful. Our stories and contributions stand on their own.

This matters to me as someone who came to Black feminism through the internet. I didn’t pick up bell hooks or Audre Lorde from a syllabus. I heard their names in video essays. I found them through YouTubers who made their words feel alive and accessible. And that’s the beauty of the digital space—it creates an entry point. It shows Black women that our voices, in all their forms, are valid. That we can shape the discourse even without permission from the traditional gatekeepers.

Digital Black feminism isn’t just about tech. It’s about making space, telling the truth, and refusing to be erased. And Black women have always done that. We’re just doing it on a new stage now—with the same brilliance, resilience, and fire we’ve always had.

Works Cited

Steele, Catherine Knight. Digital Black Feminism. New York University Press, 2021.