By emerald faith, Karla Méndez, and Jaimee Swift, Editors, 50 Years of Combahee

In the third installment of our Special Blog Issue, “50 Years of Combahee”, for Chirlane McCray, the Combahee River Collective meant finally being in a space with Black women in which they could make memories and openly have conversations about their daily struggles.

As a young Black girl growing up in Massachusetts, writer, editor, and activist Chirlane McCray experienced racism and bullying that would shape her future dedication to activism. At ten, her family moved to Longmeadow, where they became the second Black family in the area. Their arrival resulted in their neighbors distributing a petition to keep them out. While they ultimately remained, during some of her years in high school, McCray was the only Black student. Her way of coping with this maltreatment was to write what she has referred to as angry poetry.

In 1972, McCray attended Wellesley College and joined the Combahee River Collective shortly after. In 1977, the collective published their renowned statement. In it, the collective detailed and reaffirmed their commitment to struggling against and dismantling systems of racial, sexual, heterosexual, and class oppressions. They held a strong conviction that Black feminism is the “logical political movement to combat the manifold and simultaneous oppression that all women of color face.”

The collective hosted feminist retreats that brought together women with the purpose of assessing the current state of the movement, discussing and sharing political work experiences, and the issues Black women encounter when organizing. As Duchess Harris writes, “[Demita] Frazier, [Barbara] Smith, and [Beverly] Smith, who organized the retreats, hoped that they would foster political stimulation and spiritual rejuvenation.”

We spoke with Chirlane McCray about her time with the Combahee River Collective, what it feels like to celebrate the 50th year anniversary of its founding, and how she sees the Black feminist today moving forward.

The interview has been edited for clarity and length.

Jaimee Swift (JS): How does it feel to know that we’re celebrating 50 years of the Combahee River Collective?

Chirlane McCray (CM): Oh my god. First of all, it's a surprise because it’s not something I ever expected would be lasting, or that it would have spread in terms of who we were and what we did together. I’m elated because our coming together proved to be significant. It mattered that we were able to gather together and share our life experiences, our journeys, all our ups and downs and philosophies of life up until that time. It’s to be respected and honored that we did that. That was a big deal back then. I have to say it wasn’t Combahee from the very beginning. It was the NBFO, the National Black Feminist Organization. This gathering of women was an offshoot of that. White women were going to the women’s center and doing what they called consciousness raising. I thought of it as being very much in the same vein. And just as I have benefited from the stories of women who came before me, before us, I’m hoping that women who are coming after will benefit from the fact that we did what we did.

emerald faith (ef): That is so wonderful. Thank you for sharing and for mentioning the importance of political consciousness raising. Relatedly, why did you join Combahee, and what was the political and social climate during the time that motivated you to join?

CM: Oh my goodness. Again, it wasn’t Combahee. It was just a group of women–Demita Barbara, Beverly, and Margo. The political environment was very conservative. Nixon was president, and Ford was vice-president. I didn’t consider myself a political person. I was interested in feminism, civil rights, and the environment. I had also come out. I had a girlfriend that was Korean, so for me it was about being able to sit with other sisters and talk about what I was experiencing on my college campus because that was my world at that point. I was experiencing those first freedoms that you get when you leave home and go to college. I was trying to find my place in the world, and I found it really challenging. I found the classes weren’t speaking to me.

I was actually one of the babies of the group, if not the baby. I was barely 20. They were talking in a way that I could relate to and made me feel comfortable, while also addressing the anxieties and challenges that were going to be prevalent in my life, if they weren’t already. I saw them as my big sisters. I saw the group as a comfort but also an inspiration. It nourished me to be there. We became very close because we had so much in common. It goes back to being women, and in many cases, dark skinned women who identify as queer and no one was speaking to those realities that we always had to compartmentalize. It was like, why can’t I be all of me in one place? That was hard. It seems kind of ridiculous when you think about it, but that was the reality back then. I had a class at Wellesley with Helen Stewart who talked about marginality and that was a fantastic class. Between the women of Combahee and the class, it really changed the way I thought. It got me thinking about how I can move through the world and not leave parts of myself behind.

Chirlane McCray during her college years at Wellesley. Photo courtesy of Chirlane McCray.

“I’m elated because our coming together proved to be significant. It mattered that we were able to gather together and share our life experiences, our journeys, all our ups and downs and philosophies of life up until that time. It’s to be respected and honored that we did that.”

ef: In our conversation with Margo [Okazawa-Rey], we were saying that there’s a contrast between now where we’re able to say we’re Black feminists and then. Saying you were a Black feminist during that period of organizing or before, and possibly after Combahee and to loudly proclaim “I’m a lesbian,” “I’m a socialist,” I can only imagine the backlash to that. Do you mind speaking a little bit about if you experienced any of that?

CM: I’m going to give you two examples. One example, I tried to get a job in Boston at the Bay State Banner and whoever I interviewed with, the reaction that I got from this African American guy is that you need to take Black out of everything on your resume. You’re not going to get a job if you describe yourself as Black. Needless to say, I didn’t get the job. The other example is I got a scholarship to study and travel in West Africa my junior year, and I proposed that I was going to study Black feminism in West Africa. Everywhere I went, it was pretty much, “We don’t have feminism here” or “We don’t talk about that.” It was seen as a white phenomena and non-traditional. Even with the power of the market women, the writers, and everything that was going on, it was a foreign concept. And so, Black feminism? In my experience, back then, nobody was dealing with it. There was no acceptance, no understanding, no recognition of those two words together. It didn’t stop me, but that was the reality.

ef: In revisiting the discourses of that period, one thing I’ve also noticed was the supposed ideological tension between Black feminism and socialism — a tension that suggested that they were incongruous. For example, Amiri Baraka has an essay called “Afro-American Literature & Class Struggle” wherein he accuses Black women writers like Ntozake Shange and Michelle Wallace of exhibiting a misunderstanding of the true source of their oppression — referring to them as “confused women” partly because of their emphasis on illuminating intracommunal misogynistic and patriarchal violence, which he suggests are merely effects of the real problem of monopoly capitalism.

CM: It needs to be addressed, especially at this moment. There seems to be a resurgence of wanting to go back to those traditional values, like the man is the head of the household.

JS: I’m so glad emerald brought this up because we look at this time period, 50 years ago, and these values have always existed. But now we’re in a social media era and we see these things happening. You all were creating a radical Black feminist politic for us now that we can say we are these Black feminists. But we’re also seeing the pushback against, whether people want to call it DEI in this case or even being able to talk about Black feminist politics in certain spaces or being in solidarity with Palestine or talking about all these different things that are happening in our world. I’m curious about how you see Black feminism today and what we need to do to fight against these forces that don’t want us to talk about our politics. Like Audre Lorde talks about, we also have internalized patriarchy amongst other things, white supremacist, conservative, fascist forces. What do you think about that?

CM: That is an excellent question. The bottom line is we have to keep on talking, keep on questioning and examining what's going on and don’t take anything for granted. There’s so much happening right now that we can not be complacent. Roe v. Wade is a great example. Freedoms we thought we fought hard, we got reproductive rights, we got the freedom to choose. Those freedoms can never be taken for granted. You always have to fight to keep them and to keep going forward. I don’t think we ever go completely backwards. With social media and all these different ways to connect with people, we can spread information and connect with others more easily. I love the work I see being done with women in Brazil, Zimbabwe, and West Africa, which is so overdue and needed. The more we can connect with each other including men, connect and help them understand just what is going on and how it affects us, the better it is. It’s better to have things out because before there was too much underwrap, too many things that people weren’t talking about.

The Combahee River Collective in 1974. Left to right bottom: Demita Frazier and Helen Stewart. Left to right top: Margo Okazawa-Rey, Barbara Smith, Beverly Smith, Chirlane McCray, and Mercedes Tompkins. Collage by Doriana Diaz.

Karla Méndez (KM): Could you please share with us any memories that stand out to you most about being a member of Combahee and what you are the most proud of?

CM: That is actually the hardest question. I mean, what are my memories? What I remember is more about feelings than about specific instances where we were sort of sitting on the kitchen floor or at a kitchen table. For me, the memories are about laughing together. What a treasure to have laughter in a room full of Black women. That was really special for me. And laughing about something that other people probably wouldn’t get. My memories are really about thinking about the faces and places where we were. The memories I treasure are about being together and being able to have conversations freely.

JS: What are your thoughts on the present and future of Black radical Black feminist politics? What advice would you give to Black feminists today?

CM: I feel like I’m not up on everything that’s going on. I like that y’all are reaching out to other women in other places. Building solidarity with others is important. It starts with self but being able to have honest conversations is important if you’re going to build a world because we’re not going to build a world by ourselves. We’re talking global now, right? That means everybody who is around us, our brothers, sons, nephews, and that also means our sisters who are in Brazil or wherever they are. It’s important to find what connects us. What does it mean to be human in 2024? The world’s getting smaller and we have to be able to get along. How are we going to do that? How are humans going to manage going forward? As Black feminists, there’s a lot of power and insight and your voices are important. But it means you got to reach out and bring people in.

JS: I have felt a little jaded being a Black feminist as of late because of all the destruction and oppression in the world. Even the things that we do to each other as Black feminists or womanists. Even if we don’t want to identify with these terms. For example, my mother, grandmother, and aunties would never say they’re Black feminists, but they embody the principles, ethics, ethos, whatnot, of a Black feminist, womanist, whatever. This is really helpful because I do think we need to connect with each other and learn across differences. If we’re going to create this mass movement for radical change, it has to be all of us.

“And so, Black feminism? In my experience, back then, nobody was dealing with it. There was no acceptance, no understanding, no recognition of those two words together. It didn’t stop me but that was the reality.”

CM: And you know, it has to start somewhere, right? We can’t live in isolation. When I think about the women who have made a difference for me, I believe in my heart that it’s about finding ways to create together. That builds really strong bonds. That was the power of Combahee. And that will be the power going forward. What can you create with others? Me, Demita, Helen, Margo, we were from very different backgrounds despite the fact that we had the similarity of skin color and short hair. But we found a way to communicate with each other and create something that was bigger than all of us. I think that is really the path forward, being able to do that with others.

ef: One of the things that has stuck out to me in the various conversations with people from this period is that creating together was a tactile thing. You weren’t just creating, you were ideating together. The process of coming together and creating a thing with your hands was a tactile experience and I think it’s something we miss out on in this hyper digital age. I do feel that is something that allowed you all to connect in such a particular way and that allowed for a different kind of organic consciousness raising whereas now there’s so much fear about going into any organizing or political space and acknowledging that you don’t know anything or you don’t know everything.

CM: That’s so interesting that you brought that up as a challenge. We’re talking about xeroxing and mimeographing. We had to sit down and put those documents together in a very tangible way. You can still create, it’s just now you can make a documentary on your phone. The things you can do are mind blowing. It’s important to learn skills that will help people be able to feel comfortable coming together and not feeling like they have to be an academic. I was very intimidated by Barbara and Beverly and Margo. They were all older than I was and I was not an academic. I did not come from a family that talked politics at the dinner table. I came from a working class family, even though I had a middle class background. I was not sophisticated in a way that many others were. But it shouldn’t matter. My life experience is still valuable. I still had things to share. We have to make people feel welcome. Everyone should be able to sit down at the table and talk. If we can’t do that, where are we going to go? What are we going to do?

ef: There’s been a lot of misinformation on the internet and even in books and journals about who was a member of Combahee.

CM: Oh! Let me speak to that because there was no membership card, you know that right? This was not a formal organization. People came in, people went out. That was the core, the group in that photo, for a while. But there’s not in any way I would say, “This is Combahee.” In fact, the name Combahee…I moved to New York City in July of ‘77. I remember Barbara sending me the statement after I had moved to New York City. There’s a lot of fluidity with–I wouldn’t even use the word member–I would just say the people who were part of the organization. It was consciousness-raising.

“You Got to Bring People In”: An Interview With Chirlane McCray on the 50th Anniversary of the Combahee River Collective