By Julienne Louis
On Martin Luther King Jr., Day, the nation reflects on the Civil Rights Movement by invoking a familiar cast of heroes. We repeat the same names, the same photographs, the same speeches—often without interrogating who is missing from the story. This year, that absence feels especially sharp.
Credit: AP Photo/Julie Jacobson
On Jan. 13, Claudette Colvin—civil rights activist and icon—died. For many people, including me, this was the first time we had ever heard her name. I attended two HBCUs, taught middle school social studies—including the Civil Rights Movement—and later wrote curriculum for a national charter network. Claudette Colvin never came up.
This is not an individual failure. It is a systemic one—rooted in patriarchy and White supremacy, the very systems Dr. King spent his life resisting.
Too often, Black women are elevated to historical recognition only in death. And even then, our labor is flattened into narrow frames that obscure our leadership and political agency. Black women of the Civil Rights Movement are most often remembered in three ways: as part of a larger group (the Little Rock Nine or the victims of the 16th Street Baptist Church bombing); as isolated individuals disconnected from broader political strategy (Ruby Bridges, Rosa Parks); or as wives of male leaders (Coretta Scott King, Betty Shabazz).
Each framing diminishes the truth. By moving Black women—their labor, strategy, and sacrifices—out of the spotlight, institutions benefit from our work without ever naming us. In doing so, we deny Black girls the lineage they deserve to inherit.
Some argue that women played only a “supplemental” role in the Civil Rights Movement. History tells a different story. Organizations such as the National Council of Negro Women, the Women’s Political Council, and Delta Sigma Theta, Inc. provided essential infrastructure, strategy, and political pressure—often advancing gender justice in ways their male counterparts did not.
Beyond formal organizations, the success of SNCC, CORE, and even the Black Panther Party rested heavily on women’s labor. SNCC would not exist without Ella Baker, whose vision of group-centered leadership shaped the organization from its inception—a fact John Lewis acknowledged before his death. Diane Nash translated that vision into action, coordinating the Freedom Rides and forcing federal enforcement of desegregation laws.
The Black Panther Party—often remembered for male bravado—also depended on Black women’s leadership. Its widely celebrated free breakfast program was designed and implemented by Ruth Beckford Smith, a Black woman. And when Huey P. Newton, Bobby Seale and Fred Hampton cycled in and out of jail, Elaine Brown assumed leadership. She remains the only successor to formally lead the Party, yet her name is rarely taught alongside theirs.
I fought for these women’s inclusion more than once because I believed their stories were essential for students’ understanding of the movement. I was told repeatedly that because their names did not appear on standardized tests, they did not need to appear in lessons. Years later, as a member of a state standards revision committee, I advocated for adding a standard to address this very gap. The proposal failed, 28–3. The only votes in favor came from one Black woman and two Black men.
The message was clear: girls were being taught where they belonged—not in history.
Erasure does not only happen in textbooks. It happens through policy. It happens through decisions that restrict access to public memory: banning Black books, attacking Critical Race Theory, and defunding cultural institutions, including the National Museum of African American History and Culture. Under the Trump administration and the Project 2025 agenda, attacks on museums, DEI initiatives and public education show how easily marginalized voices can be erased in real time.
As a result, parents and educators who prioritize truth and equity can no longer rely on the state or schools to provide layered, honest context about Black women in the Civil Rights Movement.
As a mother, this reality is deeply personal. Who will I teach my daughter about—not just in January, but all year long? How do I ensure she knows Claudette Colvin, Coretta Scott King, Dr. Betty Shabazz and Elaine Brown—not as footnotes or extensions of men, but as powerful figures in their own right?
As we observe MLK Day and approach Black History Month, the question is not whether we honor Dr. King. It is whether we are willing to tell the fuller truth about the movement he led alongside so many women whose names history has minimized or erased.
This weekend, I am hosting a grade-group activity to teach children about Dr. King’s contributions. In preparation, I searched our public library for books centered on women in the Civil Rights Movement. I found two: “The Story of Ruby Bridges” and “A Ride to Remember.” Both important. Both insufficient.
This work cannot wait for another obituary to honor the legacies of Black women. If we truly believe in Dr. King’s vision of justice, we must be brave enough to tell the whole story—one that honors Black women not for whom they stood beside, but for who they were.
It’s what Claudette Colvin deserved.
The opinions expressed in this commentary are those of the writer and not necessarily those of the AFRO.