(Picture: Ella Byworth for Metro.co.uk)

Speaking at the Women of the World festival earlier this year, I pointed out that increased inclusion of minorities in the mainstream is a positive thing – but I questioned how safe we were in these spaces.

In truth, while speaking, I was thinking specifically about the venom I had seen directed towards black women in public life; it had really rattled me.

New research from Amnesty International suggests that black women are 84% more likely than white women to be mentioned in abusive tweets.

And now I question what this all means for our democracy and society.


My first rape threat on Twitter came when I was just a teenager. I hadn’t yet decided to become a journalist, but I was interested in politics and feminism, so I spoke about these topics a lot.



Looking back, I toned myself down after that rape threat. I became less outspoken.

More recently, I was part of a BBC Three project on colourism.

A lot of men in the comments minimised what we were saying, and suggested we were just ugly, unlovable and whiny women. After that, I turned down another opportunity to discuss racism on video; the deluge of comments that would follow was a factor.

Funnily enough, one man, who commented on a video about natural hair, said he would rather I was silent so he could just look at me – because women are better seen and not heard, I suppose.

My worry is that because black women are such easy targets for abuse, they will begin to question whether stepping into public and political spheres is worth it.

I also didn’t share the footage of my appearance on BBC’s Ten O’Clock News online, because in all honesty, I did not want the smoke.

And I didn’t want people making it about my appearance, rather than my achievement of becoming the youngest person ever to report on it.

My career started at Black Ballad, an online magazine for Black British women that is gaining more and more mainstream recognition for its work. But when editor Tobi Oredein was relaunching the site, someone hacked it, deleted everything and left a message – silence is golden.

My worry is that because black women are such easy targets for abuse, they will begin to question whether stepping into public and political spheres is worth it.

I know I have.

Of course, there are those that stay and take the abuse that comes with it.

Take Shadow Home Secretary and MP Diane Abbott, for instance. The online abuse she receives is appalling, and there are other young black girls watching.

For some of them, the realisation that she received 45% of all abusive tweets sent to female MPs in the six weeks leading up to the election will be enough to deter them from pursuing a political career. Abbott herself said that it might have deterred her, too.

Let us also not forget the abuse that Gina Miller received for taking the government to court over Brexit, including from an aristocrat who offered £5,000 online to anyone who would run her over.

I am beginning to believe that, for black women, the cost of representation in public life is silence. The message is: do not have the audacity to speak out about racism or sexism, or involve yourself in the political processes of this country.



In my eyes, being forced to be silent is the same as being excluded completely.

Turn up to the meeting, let us take a photo and do not say a word.

The immediacy of the internet makes punishment easy to dish out against those who do not conform. And Amnesty’s research is clear – this online abuse has serious psychological impacts on its victims.

It’s evident that black women who choose to exist in the public eye will do so to the detriment of their mental health, and some will decide that price is too high to pay.

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