Why The 4B Movement is NOT for ME (and many other Black women)

The U.S. is Not a Monoculture: Why the 4B Movement Doesn’t Fit All

Introduction: From a Simple Facebook Post to a Bigger Conversation

It all started with a straightforward post on my personal Facebook: “The 4B movement is NOT for Black women.” Just a few words, a passing reflection on a movement happening oceans away. But, thanks to social media and a bit of cultural curiosity, some white women have brought it right to these shores (pun fully intended).

One person in particular, someone who’s consistently enjoyed learning alongside me, responded with thoughtful questions. I could see this was a chance to go beyond that initial sentence—to explore what it means to live in a country as vast and diverse as the U.S., and why not all movements translate perfectly across cultural lines. So here we are, diving deeper into why the U.S. is not a monoculture and what this means for embracing, adapting, and creating movements that genuinely resonate with our unique identities and experiences.

Again, breathe, grab some water, and get ready to move your body because we are going to touch on some uncomfortable truths.

What is a Monoculture? Why It Matters for Movements

Let’s start with some context. When I say “the U.S. is not a monoculture,” I’m talking about the fact that this country isn’t a single, unified cultural entity. A monoculture is what you find in societies that share largely homogeneous beliefs, customs, and social norms. In a true monoculture, people tend to experience similar cultural expectations, pressures, and even collective grievances.

South Korea, where the 4B movement originated, is much closer to being a monoculture than the U.S. The issues Korean women face in their society around marriage, relationships, and respect from men are felt in ways that are more collectively understood across their population. In this context, a movement like 4B—a choice by women to opt out of traditional relationships as a protest—has clear cultural roots and a broad resonance among Korean women.

But let’s zoom out to the U.S., where diversity of race, religion, cultural heritage, and social expectations create a complex web of experiences. When we bring movements like 4B over here, we need to pause and ask: Who is this for? And does it make sense across the intersections of race, gender, and cultural background in the U.S.?

The U.S. is Massive—and So Are the Intersections

The United States isn’t just one country. It’s fifty states, countless cities, and a vast spread of regional identities. A woman’s experience with sexism or patriarchal norms in New York City could be worlds apart from that of a woman in a small Midwestern town, or of a Black woman in the South. This diversity means we aren’t working with one overarching culture or one uniform experience of oppression.

Within this enormous range of experiences, we have multiple identities—race, gender, sexuality, socioeconomic class, religion, and so on—that intersect to shape our lives. For example, Black women in the U.S. often encounter a very different mix of expectations and pressures than white women do. So when a movement that focuses heavily on a single issue (like opting out of relationships with men as a protest) is transplanted here, we can’t expect it to automatically align with everyone’s lived reality.

In other words, the scale and diversity of the U.S. make it impossible to approach social issues in a one-size-fits-all way. We can’t just import movements without considering the complex realities of the communities we’re bringing them to.

Why the 4B Movement Isn’t for Everyone—Especially Black Women and Other Marginalized Communities

The 4B movement is built on the notion of rejecting traditional relationships with men as a form of empowerment and resistance. This stance makes sense within South Korea’s societal framework, where many women are challenging the long-standing expectations that women marry, have children, and play traditional roles.

However, Black women in the U.S. have long resisted relationships and systems that don’t respect or protect them—often out of necessity for survival, safety, and liberation. The added layers of racialized sexism, economic pressures, and cultural expectations create an experience of gender that’s fundamentally different from the one the 4B movement speaks to. Black women are already in a place where they’ve historically had to create boundaries and safeguard themselves against structures that don’t uphold their well-being.

This isn’t unique to Black women, either. Marginalized white women—whether they are poor, queer, trans, disabled, or otherwise impacted by intersecting oppressions—also face unique challenges that the 4B movement does not necessarily address. For many of these women, traditional relationship structures come with heightened risks and additional layers of stigma that the 4B movement, rooted in another cultural context, may not fully capture. Poverty, for example, limits access to resources for those who wish to leave unsafe relationships, while queer and trans women face social and political risks simply for existing authentically. These intersections create a reality where many marginalized women, including white women, are already doing the work of resisting structures that don’t serve them.

So, when we import a movement without adapting it to the specific intersections of marginalized communities here, it risks missing the point—or worse, adding another external pressure or expectation. That’s why I say this movement isn’t for Black women—and, by extension, may not align with other marginalized women in the U.S. either. The 4B movement wasn’t built with these unique, complex challenges in mind.

The Enduring Solidarity Between Black Women and Black Men

One example of the importance of context in understanding liberation movements is the enduring relationship between Black women and Black men. Abstaining from relationships with Black men should not be the call to action from white women, as we see time and time again that Black men have shown up in solidarity with Black women, often supporting rights that protect women’s autonomy, such as “my body, my choice.” This solidarity has roots in shared history and a mutual commitment to liberation, even as we face the distinct challenges imposed by white supremacy.

While there are intra-community issues to address of homophobia, classism, patriarchy, and all the holdovers of the influence from constructs of whiteness—issues that every community faces—Black men are not inherently our enemy, nor do they see us as property in the way often seen in the constructs of whiteness. Demanding that Black women “stand in solidarity” by abstaining from relationships with Black men would mean asking us to turn away from the one group that has consistently supported us, dating back to that non-consensual boat ride to these lands.

Although a small minority of Black men may believe they can “win” at the game of patriarchy, the majority recognize that our liberation is interlinked and continue to support us as we address challenges collectively. This understanding, rooted in a shared history and a mutual commitment to liberation, is crucial as we work toward a future where our bonds are strengthened, not broken, by those who may not fully understand our journey.

True, transformative activism must be rooted in the specific realities and solidarity patterns of each community.

Here’s where it gets more complex

Whiteness as a system and a construct comes with its own rigid expectations, and for those who move away from these traditional structures—those who question or reject cis, heterosexual, Christian, or patriarchal norms—the consequences are real.(You are seeing that today)

In the past, (let’s say feudalist England) those who defied these norms might have been labeled as “class traitors.” In the much closer past they were labeled “race traitors.” Today, within the structures of whiteness, they’re branded as “liberal progressives,” (yes the dog whistles of the Alt-right apply to you as well white people.)

Turning away from these norms means moving away from the very structures that upheld the white supremacy delusion for centuries. It means rejecting the ideas that have historically served to uplift and maintain the status quo for a select group. And in doing so, these individuals become disposable in the eyes of those who cling to these constructs.

So, when a movement like 4B, which is rooted in a different cultural context, is adopted here, it doesn’t address the full reality for Black women, Indigenous women of Turtle Island nor for marginalized white women who find themselves outside the bounds of traditional whiteness. Instead of being recognized for pushing the boundaries, they’re often cast aside, facing hostility from within their own communities as they strive for liberation that breaks free from systems that have kept so many oppressed.

Appropriation and the Problem with “Importing” Movements

Here’s where we talk about something crucial: cultural appropriation. When we take a movement from another culture—especially one as specific as 4B—and try to apply it broadly in the U.S., we run the risk of diluting its message and co-opting it for situations it wasn’t meant to address.