Chitterling Mentality: Plantation Politics and Organizational Challenges for Black Women Nonprofit Leaders

Intersectional Leadership

To frame our study, we draw from intersectionality theory and praxis (Crenshaw, 1989; Lewis, 2023) to best understand how Black women nonprofit leaders navigate multiple axes of domination. This includes an individual’s unique experience of power and oppression within social hierarchies; for those who are structurally “at the bottom” of these hierarchies, it can translate into inequitable access to social, economic, and political resources (Crenshaw, 1989). Intersectionality offers a useful lens to conceptualize Black women’s social positioning as individuals within broader macrostructures of power. In the current study, we use Peters and Miles Nash’s (2021) intersectional leadership framework to explore Black women’s experiences, including their challenges, as leaders of nonprofit organizations that primarily serve Black girls.

This framework acknowledges intersectional leadership as: (1) explicitly anti-racist (leaders proactively employ anti-racist and affirming practices), (2) explicitly anti-sexist (leaders challenge heteronormativity and sexism), and (3) contingent on the distinct contributions of Black women leaders’ service to Black girls (inclusive and affirmative practices). These tenets are of particular importance as we consider how Black women nonprofit leaders challenge anti-Black oppression and disrupt heteronormative expectations of Black girls in their work. Given their experience as both Black and women, Black women nonprofit leaders are often able to identify and relate to the manifestations of oppression and discrimination towards Black girls, and importantly, advocate for and support Black girls in their capacity to navigate these experiences. By building upon past and current epistemological and ontological understandings of Black women, both as individuals and leaders, the framework offers a guide to better capture the intention and action behind their leadership (Peters & Miles Nash, 2021), even in the midst of remonstrance.

While plantation politics can inform institutional structures in ways that disadvantage Black women and the organizations they lead (Gladden & Levine Daniel, 2022; Heckler, 2019; Nickels & Leach, 2021), an intersectional leadership framework allows us to consider how Black women leaders navigate a hostile and unsupportive nonprofit landscape to advance social justice (Branche, 2014; Griffin, 2021; Washington Area Women’s Foundation, 2023). BWNs create their own avenues of support to sustain programming by investing personal funds or incessantly engaging donors (Francis, 2019; Heckler & Mackey, 2022). These systematic disparities extend beyond pay and BWNs often commit to arduous work to keep their organizations running amidst limited resources (Dorsey et al., 2020; Ford et al., 2021; LeRoux & Medina, 2023). In response to inadequate support structures, many Black women leaders build coalitions and collaborations with other BIPOC organizations (Douglas & Iyer, 2020), or alter their work practices, such as prioritizing mental health and changing work responsibilities (Washington Area Women’s Foundation, 2023, 2024), to make the nonprofit landscape more supportive for Black girls.

Plantation politics allows us to see that the U.S. nonprofit sector resembles antebellum plantations in practice and policies aligned with white supremacist ideals in modern society, which limits leaders’ social justice approaches, while the intersectional leadership framework showcases how Black women leaders uniquely push back against oppressive forces through their anti-racist and anti-sexist work with Black girls. Taken together, these frameworks guide our examination of how BWNs traverse a nonprofit landscape in which they must navigate lacking support and financial resources used for social control while fighting to assure their organization’s sustainability and their own well-being.

Demographic Survey

Interested participants were asked to fill out a demographic survey, which was also used to determine eligibility. We asked questions about their age, country of birth, gender identity, sexual orientation, religious orientation, income, level of education, self-care practices, and health conditions. They also denoted their hometown and state residence, years in nonprofit, time in their position, hours worked per week, most important tasks of their role, most frequent tasks of their roles, and how they directly interact with the girls. Participants also supplied information on the amount, race, and gender of their organizational staff, volunteers, board members, participants, and parents.

Interview Protocol

As part of a larger study, the interview protocol focused on the well-being and sustainability of BWNs, their organizations, and Black girls. The semi-structured interview protocol (see Online Appendix) consisted of four sections about their: (1) occupational journey and wellness practices, (2) organizational work and support needed, (3) Black girls’ assets and environmental barriers, and (4) vision casting for future leaders. The protocol included 16 questions, such as, “In what ways does your Black woman identity enhance your ability to do this work?” and “Do you think taking care of your health (mental and/or physical) is important and/or necessary to improving your ability to do this work?” Participants were also asked to reflect on organizational capacity and challenges (e.g., “In your opinion, why do you think these obstacles exist and/or persist?”), as well as the experiences of their girls (e.g., “What strengths do the Black girls you serve have?”). Lastly, the participants were asked about the future of their organization and the next generation (i.e., “What advice would you give to Black women pursuing leadership in the nonprofit sector?”). Participants were given a pseudonym and transcript ID number for confidentiality. Following completion of the participant interviews, the audio was uploaded to Rev.com for AI transcription. Once transcribed, the first and second authors listened to the interview audio while reading the interview transcript to ensure participants’ responses were captured accurately. In instances of inaccurate content, the authors updated the content of the transcripts to align with the recorded audio. Finalized transcripts were uploaded to a secure university server.

Intersectional Stereotypes

The first subtheme underscored the misogynoir or systemic gendered racism (Bailey & Trudy, 2018; Lewis, 2023) that BWNs faced. Circumventing negative stereotypes required more emotional and intellectual labor of BWNs, in a hostile environment. Charity, a 9-year ED of a Midwestern nonprofit, stated:

[I] work[ed] very hard as a Black woman to prove my credibility. I have colleagues who started Black girl organizations who weren’t able to get into the rooms I got into, whether it was because of their degree level... [or] they weren’t able to code-switch as good as I can... They didn’t have those connections that I was afforded… [Initially] I was treated very young. It was hard for me to get buy-in… that took 10 years. Degree after degree.

Charity noted several stereotypes Black women leaders faced related to language, pedigree, and intersecting identities (e.g., race, gender, and age). She was aware that her degrees and networks “got her in the room,” even as she critiqued the underlying bias (Spates et al., 2020). Dr. Hampton, a 5-month ED of a Midwestern nonprofit, added, “Our people [Black] otherwise wouldn’t even be [let] in. That’s why I got them little funky letters [PhD] that they say... make you undeniable. All other people, they can show up, and they going to take they word.” Due to plantation politics, Dr. Hampton had to attain and surpass mainstream standards of excellence (via obtaining a PhD), while the competence and legitimacy of non-Black colleagues with the racialized privilege of whiteness were taken at face value. In both instances, BWNs’ access was determined by their identity performances (e.g., code-switching and educational attainment) over their leadership prowess and illustrates how Black women’s social identities contribute to the inordinate expectations placed upon them to achieve similar goals and reception as other nonprofit leaders. Similarly, DD, a 22-year ED of a Midwestern nonprofit, elucidated how stereotypes intertwine and attempt to threaten her leadership and expertise:

In meetings where it’s mostly White and there’s a few Blacks, it’s still this kind of aggression... like “Why are you here? Or what do you have to offer?”... [As] a consultant and trainer in that field, my biggest challenge is always with my White participants. They have the tendency to be like, “Hey, I think I saw a grammatical error in the manual.” Or “Maybe you should have said that a different way.”... So that has been daunting.

Despite decades of experience and professional credentials, DD encountered gendered racial microaggressions in workplace contexts from individuals less experienced than her. This chronic micromanagement and diminution of DD’s abilities presented a challenge in itself as she carried out her role, particularly in spaces with less Black representation. Still, many participants recognized the social capital they gifted other Black women by remaining in the field. As Hot Cold, a 20-year ED of a Northeastern nonprofit, summarized:

I’m a first-generation, Haitian, lesbian woman. I see my identities as being a possibility model… where you don’t typically see a Black woman with the identities that I carry leading, and co-chairing, and being on the board of, or being in the room and being deferred to. I’ve endured a lot of ‘being the first,’ and been able to make room…in the conversation and the culture of whatever institution we're talking about for others.

Hot Cold being “the first” in many of these 21st century institutions revealed insufficient progress building diverse leadership in nonprofits. Those proximate to whiteness and cisgender men continue to inform leadership decisions, policies, and resource allocation within the sector. But despite the reality that individuals similar to her (i.e., a first-generation lesbian Black immigrant) are excluded from leadership opportunities, Hot Cold demonstrated a motivation to maintain her leadership position. She ensured her presence and organizational power made a difference for other leaders of marginalized backgrounds. The consideration of other Black and marginalized leaders is one BWNs continued to propel, even as their personhood was opposed by the gendered, racist, and/or heteronormative work cultures they were employed in. Similarly, in the second subtheme, BWNs detailed challenges of inadequate visibility and recognition.

Inadequate Visibility and Recognition

Organizational visibility and buy-in from sponsors are a crucial element of nonprofit sustainability. Many Black women EDs struggled to obtain buy-in, which they often attributed to social ambivalence regarding Black girls’ well-being. Azure, a 15+ year ED of a Western nonprofit, noted issues with media coverage, “Black girls…we’re deprioritized and we’re erased. Of course we do our own media… [but] it’s interesting cause I see other groups, specifically Latinx groups being covered and our work is not.” Relatedly, Hot Cold, a 20-year ED of a Northeastern nonprofit, reflected on subpar protection and care for Black girls:

After an eight year old Black girl was raped in the community, um that kept me…in this work… [We live] in a world that can find empathy and fragility in White women, White girls – even the fragility of our Black men. But have to dig so deep, or be told, or be shamed into recognizing the fragility of an 8-year-old [Black] girl who was just raped.

BWNs also lamented justifying their mission to nonprofit leaders and funders, inquiring why they did not just focus on “girls” (non-Black) or “Black youth” (boys). The sparse care and visibility for Black girls echoed plantation politics that dehumanize Black girls and orient Black bodies for exploitation. This reality informed BWNs’ social justice missions. Shamah Flowers, a 2-year ED of a Northeastern nonprofit, wields statistics and a keen awareness of misogynoir:

It hurts more when it comes from Black people though…and especially when it’s from Black women. The conversation is – why not “focus on our Black boys,” or “what about Black boys too?” And it’s like, “Yep, they have a lot of funding already. Black girls don’t... But the organizations that are doing work for Black girls – where we are positioned and how we’re treated in society, it’s reflected on all levels.

Over the years, Shamah Flowers adopted ways to substantiate why programs for Black girls were necessary. Having had these conversations with various individuals, she was disappointed when this pushback came from Black people in lieu of an anticipated sense of racial solidarity. Like Shamah Flowers, Elise, a 10-year ED of a Southeastern nonprofit, noted her surprise that more nonprofit support for Black girls did not arise during Barack Obama’s presidency:

President Obama was still in office, and I remember just a lot of news around My Brother’s Keeper and uplifting young Black men. And I was just like… how is there nothing that is focusing on Black girls?.. Historically... no one is going to help the Black girl, unless it is a Black woman or another Black girl. So I... help[ed] fill that void.

Elise, whose organization is focused on mental health education and access, started her journey in the nonprofit world to fill a programming gap for Black girls. Given that Obama was the first Black president, she expected new programming for Black youth during his presidency. Instead, a federally-endorsed initiative emerged to reduce youth violence and grow effective mentorship programs for Black boys alone. Together, the women in the study highlighted the cyclical nature of Black girls being made invisible. While Black girls face many of the same issues as Black boys, they do not receive similar recognition or visibility. In efforts to ensure Black girls receive the resources they deserve, participants discussed a third challenge, which was the limited windows of opportunity they had to capitalize on to garner support for their organizations.

Limited Windows of Opportunity

Finally, the women discussed how time-sensitive, limited windows of opportunity stifled their ability to actualize their organizational missions. For instance, some leaders experienced an influx of funding and organizational investment after the 2020 Black Lives Matter protests. While seemingly helpful, this support was a double-edged sword, as many anticipated these investments lapsing once local and national leaders believed they had done enough to assuage racial injustice. Alexis Gardner, a 12-year ED of a Midwestern nonprofit, explained:

With the whole George Floyd [murder], everybody was now pro-Black and wanted to give to Black folks... Before 2020, our highest grant year was maybe what? 15K. Over the course of 2020 to 2022... half a million... But now it's switching. We took full advantage but I also was very fully aware of what the hell was going on.

Alexis Gardner knew the funding increase that her organization experienced after 2020 was a temporary boon; she saw funding opportunities return to the abysmal status quo in less than 2 years. Fatima, an 8-year ED of a Southeastern nonprofit, also acknowledged the temporary financial support her organization received after George Floyd’s murder. She said:

Some funders started to loosen up a little bit and lean into Black-led organizations but it’s just been a struggle forever. It [was] a good public relations move, right? Because we are a Black-led organization serving Black girls. Some thought that they’d get away with just funding us for one year [2020]. But no, I called them out and that has boded well for us.

Like Fatima, many BWNs capitalized on the limited windows of opportunity to leverage support for their organizations; although, they were simultaneously critical about relying on transient beneficence. In addition to accruing resources, some participants described how they enacted meaningful practice and policy changes for Black girls. For example, Hot Cold, a 20-year ED of a Northeastern nonprofit, discussed her long-standing efforts around educational inequities:

Getting the [term redacted] Act passed in [our] state and now it’s in the courts was a huge win... [the term] is often used in courts when it comes to gender nonconforming, especially masculine-of-center, Black girls in the juvenile system... further criminalizing Black girls... The governor… passed it also in education. [But] the implementation... Are they decreasing pushout and suspension and zero tolerance policies around Black girls? And is the education there? No. So we know there’s more work to do.

Legislative advocacy was a critical element of protecting Black girls for Hot Cold’s organization, Win Win, which is focused on gender justice and policy reform. Hot Cold knew getting the (redacted) Act passed was a major victory, as criminalization marks individuals as habitually deviant and unworthy of protection. For decades, this label has been weaponized by authorities to disproportionately target and punish youth of marginalized ethnicities and gender performances. Hot Cold and other BWNs were aware that moments in time when broader society found it advantageous to espouse concern for Black girls, typically in response to egregious acts of misogynoir, including the publicized murder of Breonna Taylor, might be short-lived. Thus, they acted quickly to achieve their social justice aims. Relatedly, in the next theme, BWNs expounded on how limited access to funding opportunities and social networks undermined their leadership and organizational capacity.

Barriers to Obtaining and Maintaining Funding

The women detailed several issues with the funding process, such as inequitable access to funding, the grant progress, and needing creativity to resource their programs. Tina, a 7-year ED of a Midwestern nonprofit, shared, “Fundraising has been a challenge. And I am working to find organizations or agencies to develop a fundraiser strategy because we know that grants are not guaranteed. So if we had a consistent cash flow… that would really help.” Tina knew that the organization needed a sustainable funding plan, and, like many other BWNs, she was still figuring it out. Participants shared that funding issues were tied to a disconnect between organizational social justice missions and a lack of funders promoting equity for Black girls. For example, Elise, a 10-year ED of a Southeastern nonprofit, explained:

We still to this day probably have smaller budgets than any other organization kind of in our spaces… [Why?] we’re focusing on such a niche demographic and a lot of donors are White. A lot of individual corporat[ions], small business foundations, or family foundations. Many times, we don’t even qualify for government funding. So, to have to convince someone who doesn’t look like you, who doesn’t necessarily understand your experiences to invest in those who candidly… are not on their radar, can be quite difficult.

Elise shared that BWNs often had to educate funders and coax them to care about Black girls’ well-being by highlighting how this investment benefited funders. This is a layer BWNs’ White counterparts did not have to navigate. For some, cultural socialization informed their fundraising challenges. DOCTD, a 6-year ED of a Southwestern nonprofit, recounted:

I physically had a hard time with asking donors to support. Black women… we’re taught to... be grateful... For whatever we’re given... Everything we do is tied to our value and how we view ourselves because we’re already looked at as “less than”... But we have to be okay with going out there and demanding that people give us money. Cause that White man is gonna go out to Chase Bank and say, “I need $10,000. You need to give it.”... This isn’t a friendly environment for people who are afraid or ashamed to ask for big dollars.

DOCTD mentioned that Black women are conditioned to be content with being under-resourced, while their White counterparts are taught to expect and acquire more resources. BWNs were aware of the longstanding commodification of Black bodies, which harmfully links one’s value to their production, under capitalism. Thus, some Black leaders are afraid or ashamed to ask for money, a norm that makes it difficult for BWNs to bid for funding. Fatima, an 8-year ED of a Southeastern nonprofit, shared how her social position related to her ability to secure funding:

I found it challenging to sort of get the respect that you need… and the trust from funders. Whereas a White counterpart may be able to go in with an idea and they get seed funding, like hundreds of thousand[s]... We did good work, we wrote grants and we received funding, but I didn’t know how much we depended on particularly our White board members... Showing our data wasn’t enough. There still had to be a gatekeeper.

Fatima reflected on having to surmount funding hurdles due to misogynoir. Some of BWNs’ counterparts are guarded by the “credential of whiteness,” or the access and shielding from discrimination allotted to those proximate to whiteness (Ray, 2019). Fatima’s account highlighted her experience of White leaders receiving a vote of confidence—sometimes funded from an idea versus the data-driven applications that Black individuals had to present. Also, the women were expected to stretch fewer resources. Alexis Gardner, a 12-year ED of a Midwestern nonprofit, said, “I feel like they put Black organizations against each other because... all these other White institutions... get a whole bunch of money. Why don’t we?” She highlighted that Black leaders were compelled to distribute scarce resources among themselves, in contrast to their White counterparts who might have had more access to funding. Both Fatima and Alexis Gardner saw gatekeeping and reliance cycles perpetuated (e.g., needing White board members’ networks); Black individuals were allowed limited access to financial and social capital based on terms and conditions from people who often had a narrow and monolithic perspective of their organizational needs.

Many participants also discussed the difficulty of having a smaller organization with few staff, which limited their visibility and capacity to access funding. Some felt heightened pressure because they did not have the infrastructural support to achieve as much as larger, more well-resourced nonprofits. Ginger, an 8-month ED of a Southeastern nonprofit, explained:

I left [a] 30 million organization...We always had opportunities to come to the table with national initiatives. [At] a small nonprofit, those opportunities are not given... So, when we see the big nonprofits on TV...with the mayor...we feel sort of left out…We know that money’s going to come behind that opportunity. My thing is no money, no mission.

Previous experience made Ginger aware that larger organizations had access to professional networks and media coverage, which raised visibility and funding for the organization’s social justice work. Additionally, many of the women articulated the systemic and cyclical nature of nonprofits funding processes. Elise, a 10-year ED of a Southeastern nonprofit, expressed:

[It’s] like a hamster wheel... They’re [funders] like, “Okay, well where’s your audited financials?”... [It’s] 25 to 35K on the low end... [which] a lot of organizations just don’t have... [During COVID] they were like, “okay, just send us a one page.” But now we’re back in the space where we have full proposals that will take me... a week to write... [It’s] this kind of continuum that makes it difficult to go after the big dollars to really grow.

Retaining Personnel and Expanding Support Structures

In addition to the funding processes, retaining qualified and committed personnel and expanding organizational support structures problematized infrastructural sustainability and impact. Participants discussed barriers such as having to discern the intentions of donors and other supporters, navigating contentious BWNs, and having little guidance on how to steer the organization. This created additional work for BWNs, contributing to premature burnout and limiting organizational reach, as opposed to their counterparts who were given the resources needed for success. Charity, a 9-year ED of a Midwestern nonprofit, noted expansion challenges:

We need full-time staff. I do serve as a part-time Executive Director... My volunteers, my board of directors… [need] to stop looking at us as some small startup nonprofit and expand their mindset and their thinking as we scale up… [Also] I definitely have founder’s syndrome... you [n]ever want to let it go… trust [or] delegate.

Charity’s quote underscored how the quality and commitment of an organization’s board, staff, and volunteers translated to viability. Managing the volume of work required full-time staff, including the ED, and scaling up depended on organizational builders (e.g., volunteers and board members) buying-in to the vision. Additionally, Charity struggled with “founder’s syndrome” — the difficulty originators have adapting and sharing power with their team, out of fear of organizational mismanagement or being replaced (Block & Rosenberg, 2002) — but decided to trust her team and delegate. Additionally, some participants discussed staff attempts to undermine them. Hot Cold, a 20-year ED of a Northeastern nonprofit, said:

The[y] expec[t] that because it is a Black, queer-led organization, that it’s going to be the mammy organization. “Anything you need you’re going to get here”… You can challenge however you want. You can come in as an intern and think, “Well this 20 years that you have actually means nothing”... That does not happen in these White-led organizations.

Akin to the stereotypes mentioned in the first theme, Hot Cold pinpointed the racism and sexism that she encountered from staff (seen as a “mammy organization”) despite her years of expertise and leadership qualifications. Hot Cold’s experience with being disregarded as a competent and tenured leader, speaks to the overall lack of genuine support discussed by BWNs. At times, this lack of support came “in-house” as several BWNs expressed beliefs that circumventing stereotypes from unsupportive staff took away from the true work of the organization, and further marked a need for building additional avenues of support.

A few women also encountered a “crabs in a barrel” mentality among BWNs. As Dr. Hampton, a 5-month ED of a Midwestern nonprofit, put it, “They see them [other leaders] as opposition. ‘I worked hard to get this ball. I want to be the Token Negro with the ball.’... [But] if we do it right, everybody could eat.” Dr. Hampton's analogy harkened back to enslavement and racialized privileges, in which only a select few of African descendants (e.g., lighter skinned, more subservient, and those with specialized skills) were allowed privileges including education opportunities, skill training, and business relationships with affluent White people. This manifested as BWNs striving for degrees, positions, and access to gatekeepers, as well as vying for favor and resources. Dr. Hampton’s example highlighted the consequences of the reinforcement of plantation politics within the NPIC today and its impact on BWNs support structures and engagement with available opportunities. Aligned with this, Black women EDs had to be discerning about their expansion efforts. As Fatima, an 8-year ED of a Southeastern nonprofit, stated on potential investors presenting challenges:

400 years of trying to navigate through a system that doesn’t necessarily see us as... valued... Funders or even our board members... want us to... have girls come to their home and speak... Why can’t you just take my word or look at the stats... Even at our fundraising events, when we have to do this tear jerking, hav[ing] our girls speak, have the parents speak... With the pandemic and the social pandemic... we talk[ed] about... what [we]’re willing to do and what funding [we] just have to leave on the table... [Considering] this white savior syndrome... I just need to understand the intention.

Fatima stressed selectiveness of what she asked of Black girls and their families in exchange for funding. Some White supporters expected BWNs and participants to exaggerate their need (via “tear jerking” performances) to satisfy stereotypes they held (Wilson, 2023); this is akin to (blackface) minstrelsy or performances that caricatured Blackness for the viewing pleasure of White audiences. Fatima also referenced “white savior syndrome,” which refers to the white supremacist notion that non-White people are inherently destitute and incompetent, and that White people should “rescue” them (Jefferess, 2021). By casting Black girls as “in need of saving,” organizational funders reinforced these deficit-based stereotypes.

Finally, some BWNs discussed leading without a roadmap. While many excelled in previous roles, their ED roles required different skills. For instance, Fatima who served as programming staff for 13 years prior to becoming ED said:

Answering to a 30 plus board and the admin piece, it was different than [me] being on the program side. And so, the challenge for me was getting out of that work and looking at the bigger picture. But the advantage of that was… understanding some of the things that they [team] would be going through and what they needed from a leader.

While many BWNs began looking at the “bigger picture,” most did not receive mentorship about best practices and logistics. Unicorn, a 1-year ED of a Midwestern nonprofit, stated:

I don’t have any experience. I’m making it up as I go and relying on my board. I need to know more about tuition and have systems to make things run more automatically. I find myself Googling what board members should be doing. I could use more guidance.

Fatima’s and Unicorn’s organizations were passionate about girls’ empowerment and personal growth through dance; yet, they also needed more operations guidance. This guidance was often hard to obtain or only secured through competitive grants. Elise, a 10-year ED of a Southeastern nonprofit, noted, “Support needed? Mentorship and coaching. I don’t know anyone who does logistics… [or] who to turn to. We just received a new grant with a coaching component. So, I’m curious to see how helpful that is.” Plantation politics also influenced professional development opportunities, which were often relegated to those with access to leadership training networks, funding to pay for them, and enough staff to entrust the organization to. Infrastructural flexibility for mentorship, coaching, and attending full-day workshops were a luxury to BWNs; this was a self-propelling cycle in which lack of access threatened growth. In the same vein, in the last theme, participants pointed to issues of attrition and burnout which ultimately impacted sustainability.

Overworked and Underpaid

Participants expressed having difficulty prioritizing their well-being juxtaposed to their organization’s. This encompassed: not taking breaks, working multiple jobs due to a non-existent or insufficient salary, “wearing many hats” or having a stretched capacity without matching resources, and running the organization using minimal resources. Danielle, a 7+ year ED of a Western nonprofit, noted that Black women were socialized to “put themselves last”:

We get the trope that “Oh, a Black woman will do it.”... [We] aren’t given the opportunity to rest… We can go a lot further when we rest... [I want] Black women in particular to do what you can and rest and... teach the girls in your life [that] rest is okay.

Danielle exposed that the “I put myself last” mentality—that Black women should prioritize others more than themselves despite self-detriment—does not serve BWNs. This socialization is a manifestation of enslavement where Black individuals were expected to work tirelessly, at times to the point of death; they were treated as “property” for the plantation owner’s disposal and “superhumans” able to endure extreme pain (Collins, 2000; Ruef, 2004). Historically, Black women’s labor has been central to this country’s social movements and institutions, including nonprofit organizations, frequently subject to the expectation of sacrificing their health or pushing through inconceivable working conditions and stress. DeShay Scott, a 4-year ED of a Midwestern nonprofit, recounted the multiple roles she assumed to keep her organization afloat:

It really is overwhelming sometimes because I don’t want to do fundraising all the time. And I’m wearing so many hats, program development, I’m facilitating workshops. I’m doing all of these different things. The board members are a big part of that [fundraising] as well [but] it’s not something that I particularly care to focus on, but you have to.

DeShay Scott expressed the difficulty of wearing “many hats” and pushing past her capacity to perform the roles necessary for her organization. BWNs leading smaller organizations were often unable to outsource tasks that were beyond their specialties like larger organizations did. In some cases, the women worked multiple jobs to serve Black youth yet meet their financial obligations. Dr. Hampton, a 5-month ED of a Midwestern nonprofit, discussed how she paid her bills:

[I] make 10k as an ED. But I am also a yogi [and] a doula... [because] it’s not enough to live off of. That's why I do have the support of my husband– and... I’m a hustler... I’ve been a licensed cosmetologist since 1999... because I know that other things are required for me to be able to help with feeding the family. It take a long time sometimes, for you to get funded as a nonprofit... to make a living wage... And then they say, “At what cost?”

Dr. Hampton explained that she worked full time hours for her nonprofit but did not receive a living wage. To fill this gap, she had “side hustles” (yogi, doula, cosmetology), and depended on her husband’s financial support to maintain their lifestyle. Similarly, DD, a 22-year ED of a Midwestern nonprofit, recounted how she made ends meet, “Last year was probably the first year I would say I ever got a real salary… The money is little, lacking. If I had to depend on it, I would be in trouble… So [I contract] my consulting training[s].” DD highlighted that she could not depend on a salary from her nonprofit, despite being an ED for decades, and had to take on additional jobs to supplement her income. This financial strain and dividing time detracted from BWNs’ ability to focus on their organization and, in some cases, hampered the organization’s trajectory. Many women understood that they were overworked and underpaid due to the nature of nonprofit funding and the devaluation of Black women’s labor. Esther, a 6-year ED of a Northeastern nonprofit, expounded on what she called “chitterling mentality”:

Being so great with this little bit of shit... I call it... chitterling mentality. How we’ve made innards chitlins, they want us to make it a delicacy now. No... because then you are gonna keep giving us scraps... It’s dangerous to keep having [to] be great when I get the least of everything... And we do it with no complaint... So that’s what I believe leads to sickness, mental illness... always trying to make something work. And that takes a lot of mental energy, which impacts the heart... the head... [and] the gut, which impacts everything.

Esther drew attention to Black women’s resourcefulness, which can be a strength (e.g., superwoman schema; Donovan & West, 2015; Woods-Giscombé, 2010), but interrogates the ideological framing and impacts. BWNs received “scraps” or minimal funding to survive, yet were expected to sacrifice their time and health to “make a way” out of the little they were given. This is rooted in enslavement, where landowners kept the best for themselves and co-opted Black people’s resourcefulness to rationalize giving them less than they needed to survive. Esther’s awareness of the “chitterling mentality” could help nonprofits shift from plantation politics by challenging the normalization of scarcity, advocating for equitable resource allocation, and restructuring organizational expectations to support leaders’ well-being. In the second subtheme, Black women EDs expounded on the consequences that arose from prioritizing others above themselves.

Self-Sacrifice for the Greater Good

The women also cited the toxic environments some girls faced at home and within broader society, and the emotional weight of BWNs navigating this context. While BWNs knew that their work mitigated youth’s adverse home, school, and community experiences, fulfilling roles meant for multiple people and managing participants’ traumas impacted BWNs’ capacity to do this work at full health. Charity, a 9-year ED of a Midwestern nonprofit, said, “Our girls… feel silenced in certain spaces… their [parents] don’t want ‘em... [they’re] grappling with grief… [and] sexual assault… They [sometimes] feel hopeless... A lot of times we sparking that light in them…[to] feel hope… [and] want more.” Charity highlighted that some of her participants were devalued and unprotected, navigating misogynoir in their homes and communities (e.g., silenced, unwanted, grieving, and sexually abused). Helping Black girls navigate these harsh realities can lead BWNs to inadvertently carry the weight of situations home with them and push through despite the emotional toll. Alexis Gardner, a 12-year ED of a Midwestern nonprofit, reflected on the mental health supports she used to navigate racism and her organizational work:

Reparation[s] should be free mental healthcare because in order to be Black in America honey, you need to go to therapy to even deal and download all the shit that is… We just are taught to move through life. Very few times do we really sit down and truly reflect... That is essential for anybody working with children. When you doing heart work, you also take on a lot because it’s so much a part of you as well and that can be heavy.

Alexis Gardner cited the need for mental health support as an owed payment for the harms of enslavement, to help Black individuals navigate the hostile sociopolitical context that disparages and harms Black life. Plantation politics feeds capitalist culture, and subsequently informs Black individual’s socialization, to discourage rest and reflection; this hinders BWNs’ ability to heal, develop as leaders, and stave off overworking and burnout. Moreover, Alexis Gardner endorsed therapy as an essential tool for those doing “heart work,” as their capacity can be sapped when not counterbalanced with means of reprieve (e.g., self-care and social support amidst gendered racism; Lewis, 2023; Spates et al., 2020). For instance, Charity, a 9-year ED of a Midwestern nonprofit, illustrated that when health was not prioritized, physical costs amassed:

I was very stressed this week... haven’t been sleeping... When you get into just Black women and our health... why we die?... I’ve seen leaders not be able to lead and not be able to be a change agent because of their health... When I first started, girl... I had four or five meetings in the evening, just all over the place. I just took a week[-long] cruise... So, [now] I do prioritize and center mental health, physical health, and spiritual health.

Charity recalled how organizational stress negatively impacted her health, and cited cautionary tales of peers being unable to fulfill their social justice missions. Black women must draw on individual forms of resistance in the action of taking breaks or other self-care practices, since the nonprofit landscape as a capitalist system regards BWNs as hyperproductive “Superwoman” (Collins, 2000; Reynolds-Dobbs et al., 2008; Woods-Giscombé, 2010) and does not pace productivity for health. Over time, Charity prioritized health in service to herself and modeled this for her staff and participants. Similarly, Tina, a 7-year ED of a Midwestern nonprofit, shared:

The things that they [girls] tell me can really weigh on me. So, I have to take time for myself to detox… [A participant] very close to me tried to commit suicide… [I’m] mak[ing] sure she’s okay, mom’s okay… [that] she gets the resources that she needs.

Tina’s experience highlighted the critical youth advocacy many of these women have done, navigating organizational contexts that were hostile and harmful to their health. To challenge the white supremacist and capitalist norms in nonprofit spaces—the structures that plantation politics spawned—BWNs sometimes pushed themselves to the point of burnout. Yet, BWNs pressed on because they felt an urgent need to be present in Black girls’ lives, connect them to resources for positive developmental trajectories, and ensure that Black girls not only survive but thrive.