Black, Woman, British
What does it all mean?
Hey Sis,
What does it mean to be a Black- British woman, Black- European, or an Afro-Caribbean woman as we’re often labelled, how much of our history is highlighted? This is something I’ll be deep diving into more in Notes on Black Women. When we talk about Black history in the United Kingdom, the stories that dominate are often those of struggle, migration, and resistance—but less frequently do we hear the stories of Black women who shaped and elevated the very fabric of “British” life through a Black lens.
From the Windrush era when Black women (and men) arrived in the United Kingdom from the Caribbean islands, after the British government allured them with the promise of a “British passport and a job,” to contemporary trailblazers of today, Black- British women have continually made history—often in the face of invisibility. Much like our African-American counterparts.
As a first generation Black- British woman myself, I love my parent’s Caribbean culture they handed to me, and London is a great city. That said, I see myself as Black before British, I feel “British” by default due to where my parents decided to move to. Due to this I see Black-ness as oneness when it comes to us hyphenated Blacks ( African- American, Black- British, Black-European etc.) I’d love nothing more than for the diaspora of Black women to unite. I personally don’t see us as any different. Our accents, passports, and the boats our ancestors were placed on when they travelled across the Atlantic while enslaved may have been different, hence why we are in different locations, and have different family linages that link us as descendants of the transatlantic slave trade— but we’re the same, and one. While our geographies differ, our stories often rhyme. In my attempt to vary the growing Encyclopaedia of Black women and help with the united-ness of Black women, I wish to explore the legacy of Black- British women. By doing this I believe it will illuminate the global sisterhood to hold each other up—across oceans, borders, and time.
Early Footsteps: Black Women in Britain Before Windrush
Black Britain, or Black British history began before 1948, this is a year many remember as the the arrival date of the Windrush era, when Black people first stepped our toes on British soil from the Islands. Black presence in the United Kingdom dates back centuries. In the eighteenth century, women like Dido Elizabeth Belle—a mixed-race aristocrat raised in a British noble household, challenged ideas of race and status simply by existing. She would have been seen as Black, but my girl was also of status this must have rubbed many white people up the wrong way and confused the hell out of them.
Though rare, her life, and those of other Black women, complicate the narrative of what “Black- British” can mean. This is one woman of colour that I plan to expand on more, in later essays.
Still, these women were often exceptions, not the rule. The majority of early Black women in Britain were enslaved or servants, their names erased, their contributions unrecorded. They laboured in the shadows but left imprints, nonetheless. Their resilience became the soil from which future generations such as myself as a first generation Black -British in my own family, would grow.
The Windrush Women: Building Britain, Brick by Brick
The arrival of the Windrush in 1948 brought a wave of Caribbean migrants to British shores—among them, thousands of women who would become nurses, seamstresses, teachers, and factory workers. These women, often educated and highly skilled, were invited to help rebuild a post-war Britain. What they encountered was a society that questioned their worth and often rejected their womanhood. Just as African- American women would have experienced after emancipation of slaves in the USA.
Imagine leaving Jamaica, Trinidad, Barbados, or St. Lucia—lands of sunshine, familiar food, song—for the grey skies of postwar England, particularly London, only to find signs plastered everywhere that read, “No Blacks, No Dogs, No Irish.”
Still, these women persisted.
They joined the newly formed NHS, (which is the country’s free public health service, still in place today) often becoming the backbone of the British healthcare system. During the pandemic, just as African- American women were hit hard as they make up a large portion of the care and medical sector, it was the same in the United Kingdom.
The women that arrived during the Windrush era, raised families in hostile environments, they braided a culture, food, and community into unfamiliar streets, creating new homes from scratch.
For many African -American readers, this echoes familiar patterns: migration, marginalisation, and the daily miracle of survival for both women whether British or American. Whether in Harlem—NYC or Hackney—London, Lagos— Nigeria or Paris—France, Black women from the dawn of day to present day know the labour of rebuilding ourselves and the world around us.
British Women in Activism for Blacks across the Diaspora
Activism of Black-British women has an interesting history, in the 1960s and 70s, as racial tensions grew in the United Kingdom (just like across the Atlantic in the USA), a new generation of Black women took up the battle of activism.
One of the most powerful figures was Olive Morris—a Jamaican-born activist who co-founded the Organisation of Women of African and Asian Descent (OWAAD). She was just twenty-seven when she died, but her influence lives on, especially in south London’s Brixton neighbourhood where her name is etched into the community and collective memory.
Another Black- British female voice was Claudia Jones, often called “the mother of the Notting Hill Carnival.” Born in Trinidad and raised in the United States, she was deported and found refuge in London. There, she used her voice as a journalist and political activist to fight for the rights of Black Britons. She founded The West Indian Gazette, one of the United Kingdom’s first major Black newspapers.
Unlike in the United States, where civil rights leaders like Rosa Parks and Angela Davis are widely recognised, many British women activists remain relatively unknown. This is not due to a lack of impact, but rather a lack of acknowledgment—a silence that can easily be broken by Black-British or Black-European writers like myself.
Black Women and the Arts: Creativity as Liberation
Across the United Kingdom, Black women have long used the arts to express truths about the Black- British experience that’s often ignored by other communities. From poets like Patience Agbabi and Jackie Kay to novelists like Bernardine Evaristo—the first Black woman to win the Booker Prize, for her novel Girl, Woman, Other, literature has been a vehicle for Black- British women to drive change where needed from their intersection of gender and race discrimination.
In theatre, Winsome Pinnock broke ground in the 1980s and 90s, writing complex stories about Caribbean-British life. Today, Michaela Coel carries that torch, crafting narratives that are fearless, layered, and refreshingly honest. Her series I May Destroy You sparked global conversation, challenging the silence around race, consent, and trauma in ways few shows have dared to.
Just as British- Black artists draw inspiration from Black American music, literature, and movements, their work also vibrates globally. African audiences, too, often find threads of shared experience in these stories: the weight of history, the complexity of identity based on the transatlantic slave trade the pressure to be “British or American” in your “values,” but to somehow also remember that you are of African or Caribbean descent.
The Crown and the Critique: Meghan Markle
It would be some kind of “sin” to write about recent Black women’s history in the United Kingdom without mentioning Meghan Markle, Duchess of Sussex. Her entry into the British royal family sparked global attention, but it also unearthed the United Kingdom’s enduring discomfort with race.
While Meghan’s story is unique, the media scrutiny, the dog-whistle racism, and the sense of not being “enough” are familiar to many Black women in Britain—and across the diaspora. Her experience echoed that of many who have been hyper-visible and yet deeply unseen. And her eventual departure from the royals became, for some, a symbol of resistance—a refusal to be broken by this particular white family.
For African and American Black women, the royal family may feel distant, but the dynamics Meghan faced of tokenism, double standards, and subtle abuse and mockery —are universal. Whether in the boardroom or the palace, the struggle to remain seen and heard, with no stereotypes, or microaggressions is very rea
Our Ascendance: The New Era
Today, Black- British women are making unprecedented strides in politics, academia, media, and business just as they are in the USA. In 2017, Marsha de Cordova became the first blind, Black, women to serve in Parliament. Diane Abbott, elected in 1987, remains a towering figure. Britain’s first Black woman MP and a strong and intelligent voice for justice despite constant media targeting. I recently read her autobiography released in March 2025, A Woman Like Me, which I not only enjoyed but felt deeply proud and inspired by.
In higher education, Professor Kehinde Andrews and activist-academics like Dr. Shola Mos-Shogbamimu are changing how race and history are taught. And across beauty and fashion, designers like Mowalola Ogunlesi and makeup moguls like Pat McGrath are setting global trends rooted in unapologetic Blackness.
These achievements are not simply about representation—they're about reclamation. They tell you, me, and our daughters: we belong here. We always have.
British vs. American Experience: A Complex Comparison
It’s tempting to draw neat parallels between Black- British and Black American women, I personally don’t wish to assert that one has it easier or better than the other, and I certainly don’t wish to differentiate between us too much. As mentioned I see us as one—but the histories we have are distinct, add to that being not only British but a direct link to the Caribbean also adds another layer. The USA has a long tradition of racial disharmony that’s been part of its make-up as a country and consciousness since slavery and the civil rights movement. In contrast, Britain just like France has often claimed to be “post-racial,” even as it imported racist systems from its colonial empire.
This means that Black- British women ( and I will add Black Francophone women in main land France, and the French speaking Caribbean islands) have often had to fight not only racism, but the denial of racism, because they claim to be “post-racial.” The silence can be just as oppressive as the slurs.
However, these differences also bring strength to us. Black-British women have formed tight-knit networks, often leaning on each other to create grassroots movements, arts collectives, and healing spaces. Black American feminism—from bell hooks to Audre Lorde—informs much of our global thought, myself included as a self- identified Black feminist or Womanist as Alice Walker coined it in the 80s, British voices are increasingly shaping international conversations also.
Whether you are reading this in Accra, Atlanta, London, Lagos, Paris, or Barcelona! This history belongs to all of us.
As Black women, we are often each other’s first refuge and line of defence. We have passed down not just survival tactics but recipes, rituals, and love. We have buried our own names at times to uplift or support others—men included. I feel it’s time that we start reclaiming our name, and our identity as woman and Black. This is the whole point of Notes on Black Women, so I invite you to stay with me as I uncover women from across the diaspora , women in history to help us uplift ourselves, and also other women, and reclaim that beautiful and wonderful thing of being Black and woman.
Much love
The Black Woman Essayist
xoxo
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