Who Gets Saved? Cancel Culture’s Double Standard Against Black Women in Media
Who Gets Saved? Cancel Culture’s Double Standard Against Black Women in Media
Photo Credit: Monkey Business Images via Shutterstock
By: Jamila Gomez
“Cancel culture” is often framed as a cultural reckoning where public figures are held accountable for their words or actions. But the reality is far messier. Who actually gets “canceled”—and who gets forgiven—has less to do with the offense itself and more to do with power, race, and gender.
Take the case of late-night host Jimmy Kimmel. After making disparaging comments about conservative activist Charlie Kirk, Kimmel found himself facing backlash that could have easily ended his career. For weeks, social media buzzed with calls for his removal. But then something telling happened: hundreds of people, from loyal fans to high-profile allies, rallied to his defense. Petitions circulated, hashtags trended, and a narrative quickly formed that Kimmel was “too important” to lose. In the end, his job was saved.
Contrast that with what has happened to several Black women in media. Joy-Ann Reid, the host of MSNBC’s The ReidOut, has been targeted by controversy more than once, including resurfaced blog posts from years earlier. Each time, instead of a broad public outpouring to defend her, she was left to navigate the storm largely alone. While Reid still has her show, the scrutiny has been relentless, and her career hangs under a different kind of spotlight than her white male peers.
Tiffany Cross faced an even starker example. As host of The Cross Connection on MSNBC, she brought sharp, unapologetic commentary to the weekend lineup. Despite cultivating a dedicated audience and providing a platform for voices often excluded from mainstream news, Cross was abruptly dropped from the network in 2022. The “why” was never clearly explained. What stood out most was the silence that followed. No widespread campaigns. No petitions. Few celebrities stepping forward to demand her reinstatement. For all her impact, Cross was treated as dispensable.
This disparity is not accidental. It reveals a cultural double standard in how cancellation and forgiveness are distributed. When white male hosts stumble, institutions and audiences alike often bend over backward to frame them as redeemable. Their platforms are considered essential, their voices too valuable to lose. But when Black women in media face controversy—or simply push against the status quo—the instinct is to cut ties quickly, with little effort to preserve their place at the table.
At its core, this is about power. Late-night television has long been dominated by white men, who benefit from built-in networks of institutional loyalty and public goodwill. Meanwhile, Black women in journalism and broadcasting often fight uphill battles just to be heard. They are scrutinized more harshly, penalized more quickly, and defended less fiercely. The question isn’t whether cancel culture exists—it’s who it protects and who it erases.
The broader consequence is chilling. If Black women know their jobs can disappear without public defense, the incentive is to self-censor, to avoid being “too bold” or “too controversial.” That silences perspectives we desperately need. It narrows the range of stories told in mainstream media and reinforces the notion that some voices are disposable while others are indispensable.
Jimmy Kimmel was saved not just because of his talent or popularity, but because he belonged to a group that society has already decided is worth saving. Joy-Ann Reid and Tiffany Cross didn’t receive that same grace. Until media institutions and audiences confront this uneven playing field, cancel culture will continue to function less as accountability and more as a mirror—showing us, again and again, whose voices are valued and whose are easily erased.
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