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160 pages, Paperback
First published April 1, 2001
🌟🌟☆☆☆ 2 out of 5 stars
Before I say anything about The Conspiracy to Destroy Black Women, let me just say:
I'm a Black woman. I have a B.A. in Psychology, a minor in Women’s, Gender, and Sexuality Studies, and I’m currently working on a second B.A. in English and African American Studies. I'm also pursuing a future M.A./PhD in African American Studies / WGSS. This isn’t just a casual read for me — this is both personal and academic.
So I opened this book expecting something challenging, maybe even cathartic. What I got was... well, a lot. And not always in a good way.
That doesn’t excuse everything, but it *does* explain a lot.
The early 2000s were a very specific moment for Black political thought — still riding the wave of '90s Afrocentricity, a growing backlash to hip hop misogyny, and the rise of respectability politics 2.0. You can feel all of that in this book. There's a lot of righteous anger — some of it justified — but it’s tangled up in gender essentialism, moralizing, and conspiracy-heavy takes that don’t age well in 2025.
So yes, some chapters begin with promise. But here’s the issue...
Porter starts on a road that seems clear… then veers off into oncoming traffic of assumptions and contradictions.
Claims are made with zero sources. “Black women didn’t experience bulimia in the ‘80s”? That’s just wrong. (Becker et al., 2003.) He repeats inaccurate information about welfare housing and offers odd advice about women letting men live with them — despite laws meant to prevent unregistered tenancy. (HUD, 2023.) He speaks for women, then says men shouldn't define womanhood — literally within a few chapters of doing exactly that.Porter claims he’s fighting patriarchy… but spends a lot of time telling women how to behave. There’s a tone of “you should’ve chosen better,” which is painfully familiar to any Black woman who’s ever been blamed for her own mistreatment.
He asks Black women to fix problems created by systems — while letting Black men off easy. The logic trap is real: if you pick the wrong man, it’s your fault.
Some sections are uncomfortably dismissive, especially about bisexual Black men and queer identity. Porter frames queerness as a byproduct of white supremacy — which is not only wrong, but also erases rich precolonial histories of gender and sexual diversity in African societies (see Tamale, 2011; Amadiume, 1997).
As someone in AAS/WGSS spaces, this is where the book really lost me.
I don’t regret reading it. I think it’s the kind of book you read when you want to argue, not agree. And sometimes that’s useful. If you’re studying Black gender theory or patriarchy in pop culture, it’s worth having this on your shelf — just not as gospel.
That said, you’ll need your critical lens on the whole time. And maybe a group chat, because you *will* want to scream-text someone at least once per chapter.