The 19th Amendment inked women’s suffrage into American history, a culminating moment in an effort to win political power. But as the 100th anniversary of its ratification fast approaches, it’s essential to reflect on who the 19th Amendment excluded in practice if not on paper, and what the popular historical record of this movement leaves out.

“Black women know as 1920 unfolds that many of them are still going to be disenfranchised,” professor and author Martha S. Jones tells At Liberty. “That’s not a secret. That’s an open premise of the 19th Amendment.

Jones joined the podcast this week to discuss how the history of voting rights has led us to this moment. She is the Society of Black Alumni Presidential Professor and a professor of history at Johns Hopkins University. Jones is also the author of the new book, Vanguard: How Black Women Broke Barriers, Won the Vote, and Insisted on Equality for All.

The ordained heroes of women’s suffrage — such as Elizabeth Cady Stanton, Susan B. Anthony, and later Alice Paul — often tossed out the leadership and movement-building of Black women. The absence of those voices from the popular historical record has obscured the centuries-long role that Black women have played, and continue to play, in expanding voting rights for all. In writing a book that attempts to capture “200 years of voting rights history in the U.S. from the perspective of African American women,” Jones says, she realized “that there really is no golden age of voting rights in the United States.”

“What was remarkable and important for me to discover was that the history I was telling lives inside many of the women whom we recognize as of our own movement, like Stacey Abrams or Ayanna Pressley,” says Jones. “When I heard Stacey Abrams crediting Shirley Chisholm, Barbara Jordan, Sharon Pratt Kelly, Sojourner Truth, and Harriet Tubman as helping to shape her political consciousness in her imagination, I realized there really was a story to tell.”

The Black Women Behind the Ongoing Fight for Suffrage

The Black Women Behind the Ongoing Fight for Suffrage

We’re coming up on the 100th anniversary of the 19th Amendment which was ratified on August 18th, 1920 and then certified eight days later. The 19th Amendment inked women’s suffrage into American history, a culminating moment in an effort to win p...

We’re coming up on the 100th anniversary of the 19th Amendment which was ratified on August 18th, 1920 and then certified eight days later. The 19th Amendment inked women’s suffrage into American history, a culminating moment in an effort to win p...

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Six months into the COVID-19 pandemic, it’s clear that among those suffering the most are those who typically get paid the least: the “essential workers” who tend to the sick, care for our elders, grow our food, stock our supermarket shelves, and operate the public transit necessary for these and other frontline workers to get to their jobs.

These mostly Black and Latinx workers, also disproportionately women, already live in a state of economic precariousness. For months now, they have been asked to literally risk their lives for their paychecks. In this way, the pandemic has further exposed and deepened our nation’s fault lines of racial and gender inequality.

Among the frontline workers in harm’s way are the nearly 1 million people who continue to serve up Egg McMuffins, Big Macs, and fries at the nation’s 14,000 McDonald’s restaurants. Despite the company’s vast resources — it has already paid nearly $2 billion to shareholders since the pandemic began — McDonald’s has rewarded the sacrifices of its low-wage cashiers and cooks with indifference to their safety and — when they and their loved ones get sick — refusal to grant job-protected, paid time off to stay home.

The U.S. enjoys the shameful distinction of being the only country in the developed world that doesn’t guarantee paid sick and family leave to workers. We have no choice, then, but to rely on employers to fill the void — yet they have doggedly resisted doing so. Roughly a quarter of the private workforce — more than 33 million people — are afforded no paid sick time to care for themselves, while more than 80 percent of private sector workers have no access to paid leave to care for a family member. 

These numbers are shocking enough, but because they are averages, they obscure an even uglier truth: Paid sick and family leave is nearly universal among higher-paid, professional workers. These workers are more likely to be white and are the same workers who, during this crisis, are most able to work from the snug safety of their homes. Among the lowest-paid quarter of the workforce, the majority of whom are Black and Latinx workers, only half of them have any paid sick days, and just 7 percent have paid family leave. In short, low-wage workers — far more likely to be people of color relegated to these occupations due to historic discrimination — are often the ones who lack paid sick and family leave, yet need it the most. 

Under normal circumstances, such figures reflect grave racial, gender, and economic inequalities. In the time of COVID-19, though, the lack of paid sick and family leave is also a matter of life and death. Without a paycheck during a needed absence from work, low-wage workers are forced to choose between earning critical income or taking care of themselves or loved ones at home who are sick. 

During the COVID-19 crisis, lack of access to paid family leave inflicts distinct, long-lasting harm on women. Women comprise 60 percent of the nation’s family caregivers, so when a family member falls ill, it is overwhelmingly women who will stay home with them. And because households of color are more likely to be multigenerational, with both young children and elderly relatives at home and in need of care, this caregiving burden falls especially heavily on Black and Latinx women.  
Without paid, job-protected family leave at work, those women will lose income or be pushed out of the labor force altogether. Such losses have catastrophic economic consequences, given that 64 percent of all families have a woman as the sole or primary breadwinner, a figure that is even higher in families of color. Women’s exit from work to perform unpaid family caregiving also helps sustain stereotypes about women’s suitability as workers and handicaps them in achieving the footholds necessary for on-the-job advancement. Such losses, in addition to assuring women’s continued segregation in lower-status roles and lower-wage fields, are key drivers of the gender and racial wage gap. The wage gap is even larger for women of color — while white women make $0.79 to a white man’s dollar, Black women make $0.62 and Latina women make $0.54 to the dollar. The wage gap is a penalty that is compounded over a lifetime of work and leaves older women more likely to live in poverty when they no longer work for a wage. 

Poor health and safety protections, poverty wages, and occupational segregation all sustain the effects of historic discrimination, white supremacy, and patriarchy. The ACLU has a longstanding commitment to redressing the adverse effects of racism and sexism and other forms of invidious discrimination in American society. That includes decades long commitments to affirmative action in employment and paid leave reflected in our organization’s policies. It includes commitments to defend essential health care coverage to address “harsh economic and social disparities that threaten our country’s democratic foundation and the cohesion of our society.” Taking on McDonalds for failing to provide paid sick and family leave is just a piece of this work.

Given employers’ widespread failure to provide the essential benefits of paid sick and family leave, why is the ACLU singling out McDonald’s? For the same reason that we have taken on the company’s pervasive, entrenched culture of sexual harassment — McDonald’s status as one of the largest employers in the world and the biggest name in fast food means that how it does business affects not just the lives of its hundreds of thousands of workers, and their families and communities — it also sets the pace for the entire corporate food service business. Its workforce practices hold similarly enormous capacity for modeling fairness, safety, and dignity. 
 
At this historic moment, as our nation grapples with its grievous legacy of racism, it is imperative to call out policies and practices that exacerbate inequality. Challenging corporate giants like McDonald’s to protect the Black and Latinx people keeping our country moving during the COVID-19 crisis is a civil rights fight we are proud to take on.

Ronald Newman, National Political Director, ACLU
& Louise Melling, Deputy Legal Director and Director of Center for Liberty, ACLU

One of the first and most fundamental safety precautions during the COVID-19 pandemic is to shelter in place. But that may soon become impossible for millions of people as eviction moratoriums begin to lift across the country. Tens of millions have lost their jobs due to the pandemic itself, and many are still unemployed.
 
Kansas City resident Tiana Caldwell is one of them. In March, she was laid off from her job teaching business skills at a local community college. Her husband, Derrick, lost his job around the same time. Both had dedicated years of hard work to their jobs, which they loved, but in the face of this global pandemic, that wasn’t enough.
 
The family would have lost their home if not for the Jackson County moratorium on evictions. The moratorium brought them some peace of mind, but that peace was limited. It expired on May 31, allowing landlords to resume evictions of those unable to afford their monthly rent. Now Tiana, Derrick, and their 13-year-old son A.J. may soon be without a roof over their heads. Nationally, many more families also face the possibility of eviction after the federal moratorium expired on July 25. 

https://www.youtube.com/embed/G9ELUWktarQ

Tiana and her family already know firsthand what it’s like to be unhoused. Last year, they were evicted and experienced homelessness for six months while Tiana underwent treatment for her second bout of cancer. As the bills and health care costs stacked up while Tiana was unable to work, her family couldn’t afford their rent.
 
“It was terrifying,” Tiana tells the ACLU. “With cancer, your chances are slim even if you have everything you need. I didn’t know what we were going to do, what I might be exposed to. I was afraid I wouldn’t make it.”
 
The prospect of being unhoused during the pandemic is even more terrifying. It’s impossible to practice social distancing in homeless shelters, and residents often lack access to facilities that would allow them to practice sufficient hygiene. On the other hand, those who seek shelter with family or friends must contend with the dangers of crowding more people into homes that are often already short on space. In either scenario, the risk of contracting COVID-19 is heightened. One infection in a home or shelter could easily spread exponentially in a matter of days.
 
For those who are immunocompromised, like Tiana, homelessness presents an insurmountable danger. After two bouts of cancer, a history of congestive heart failure, and decreased lung capacity, Tiana is at extremely high risk of serious illness if she contracts COVID-19. Contracting the virus could be fatal.
 
Tiana is taking CDC-recommended disease prevention measures, such as not leaving the house unless it’s absolutely necessary. “I have no peace of mind thinking about leaving the house, as vulnerable as I am,” she says. “I think about it every second.”
 
Her family members — including Derrick, A.J., and an older son who lives outside the home — have also adjusted their lives significantly to protect her.

“My son [A.J.] is very thoughtful about what he does,” says Tiana. “Even when I encourage him to get outside, he chooses to stay home because he understands the risks. He loves his mom.”
 
For Derrick, staying home is not an option now that he has found another job. “He’s happy to be employed,” explains Tiana. “But he’s terrified about what he might bring home.”

A nationwide crisis

Throughout the country, tens of millions of people face the same fears. Over 30 million people are currently unemployed and unable to pay for housing or basic utilities like water and electricity.

One in five renters will be at risk of eviction by the end of September. Tens of millions of people could lose their ability to shelter in place and to practice sufficient hygiene as the nation approaches what’s expected to be a second wave of COVID-19 infections.
 
Communities of color and low-income women are among the most vulnerable to the impending wave of evictions and utility shut-offs. On average, Black renters are nearly twice as likely to be evicted as white renters. Black women are evicted at an even higher rate — with evictions filed against them at double the rate (or more)compared to white renters in 17 out of 36 states. Those who face eviction must appear in court — sometimes in person — at a time when crowding into a courtroom poses unique health risks.
 
The dangers of eviction will last far beyond the pandemic. Landlords frequently discriminate against prospective tenants who have a prior eviction record, even when the eviction occurred many years ago or was ultimately dismissed. Often these renters are not even considered.
 
“They’ll tell you up front,” says Tiana. “There’s no need to apply.”
 
Because it’s more difficult to secure housing, renters who have been evicted often have to submit many applications before one is accepted. Applications often come with fees that many people who are out of work simply cannot afford.
 
The long-term harms of eviction further entrench people in poverty, especially women of color, and exacerbate existing economic inequalities. That’s why Black women and others who are directly impacted are leading the fight against evictions.
 
“They are the experts on their situation,” says Tiana. “They don’t need people to come in and tell them what’s going on.”
 
Tiana herself is a grassroots leader with KC Tenants and the national campaign for a Homes Guarantee at People’s Action. She has volunteered with KC Tenants for almost two years, and describes it as a multiracial, anti-racist, multigenerational group working across lines of division in society. That groups like these are operating during the pandemic speaks volumes.
 
“When you’re standing on the front lines, taking these chances, it has to be bigger than you,” says Tiana. “We do this so we can be stronger together. It’s so important that we not only take care of ourselves and our loved ones, but everyone else, because this is a pandemic that knows no boundaries.”
 
Congress has the power to prevent the coming wave of mass evictions that would throw millions of people — disproportionately women and people of color — out of their homes during the pandemic. It must extend and expand the federal eviction moratorium that expired on July 25 to cover more people’s homes. The next COVID-19 relief bill must also include at least $100 billion in funding toward emergency rental assistance, which would ensure safety and stability for millions of the most vulnerable low-income renters who have lost their jobs, including those who were already struggling to pay rent before the pandemic.

Hope out of sorrow

The eviction crisis is about more than economics and health. All people should have access to safe and stable housing. Everybody deserves a home.

After struggling through last year’s eviction, Tiana and her family were ultimately able to move into a new place. Throughout the past several months of instability, they have made their house a home. She recently gave the ACLU a tour over Zoom, pointing out the artwork she’s hung since moving in, including a photograph of Amsterdam and a painting that a hospice patient gave her during her time as a nurse, which matches her orange couch. Also in the house is a protest sign she carried during a demonstration that shut down a local highway.
 
#CancelRent
#ProtectMOTenants
#ItsAProblem
 
And while 13-year-old A.J.’s room was too messy to show, she explained to us how he fills his days with dancing, and provides the family with hope through a period of significant strife.
 
“After my first bout of cancer, I wasn’t supposed to have him,” says Tiana. “So we named him Azariah Jabez, which means, ‘God has hope out of sorrow.’”

Leila Rafei, Content Strategist, ACLU