It’s been quite the week in politics. As the impact of Donald Trump’s second presidential win reverberates across the globe — and many of us mourn Kamala Harris losing her historic presidential bid — attention is also fixed on the UK, where a Black woman has risen to lead a major political party for the first time. Yet this milestone offers little solace at a sombre political moment. 

Over the weekend, Conservative Party members elected Kemi Badenoch as their new leader, making her the first Black woman to head up a major British political party. Badenoch, a Thatcher idealogue, has been vocal in her opposition to so-called wokeism and identity politics. Following her victory, Labour MP Florence Eshalomi extended her congratulations to Badenoch, writing on X: “From one British Nigerian MP to another British Nigerian MP … Eku ori ire. Your dad would be proud.” For many of us watching, our reaction to the news was a mixture of indifference and disbelief, mainly because Badenoch’s time as an MP and cabinet minister has often been haphazard and divisive, marked by a string of controversial comments that she failed to explain away during her campaign. And yet she won.

Still, it was very much just another day. Until things started getting weird. Black women were told — directly and indirectly — that jokes and memes aside, we should feel good about this appointment. The prime minister called the election of the first Black leader of a Westminster party a “proud moment” for the country. Social media users argued that we should put politics and our differences aside to acknowledge Badenoch’s election as a significant moment for Black women. To some, her election signals a willingness to embrace diverse leadership and is proof that another glass ceiling in British politics has been broken.

Not only does this takeaway not ring true for many of us, it’s also incredibly patronising and reductive. For this to be a true glass ceiling moment, Badenoch would have had to be campaigning on a level playing field, under very normal conditions; she would have had to win based solely on merit and competency. But Badenoch wasn’t elected under normal circumstances. Her appointment arguably has more to do with the limited options available to party members than with her offering a compelling alternative to Keir Starmer’s government. 

Let’s rewind to July, when the leadership race kicked off with six contenders: Badenoch, Priti Patel, James Cleverly, Robert Jenrick, Mel Stride and Tom Tugendhat. By October, just three contenders remained: Badenoch, Cleverly (then leading comfortably) and Jenrick. Cleverly lost significant ground and was eliminated in the final MPs’ vote. A popular theory among political analysts is that Cleverly lent votes to another candidate, likely Jenrick, believing he’d make an easier opponent in the final round. If this theory is correct, then the tactic clearly backfired and Cleverly ended up losing more votes than expected. With the Conservative Party reduced to just 121 seats — their smallest parliamentary presence — little miscalculations like this cost big time. 

Badenoch’s leadership campaign got off to a rocky start and continued that way until the end. She faced backlash over comments that maternity pay has “gone too far” and is “excessive” and that 10% of civil servants are so ineffective that “they should be in prison”.

In the end, however, none of this controversy mattered. Members were left with two candidates who, in any other election year, arguably wouldn’t have made it this far. Senior Tories who may have been expected to run seemed worn out or uninterested in the thankless task of reshaping the party’s identity after a tumultuous period in government. This left Badenoch — a self-proclaimed straight shooter whose right-wing views on immigration, LGBTQ+ issues and crime admittedly resonate with the Tory faithful, who skew older and are predominantly white men living in southern England — and Jenrick, who appeared to be leaning right in an effort to court votes but was suspected of planning a return to the centre once elected. 

It wasn’t much of a choice. Unless we’re suggesting that an average (given the political circumstances) Black candidate can win a leadership contest and that we’re finally free from the expectations of Black excellence, it’s overstated to say that Badenoch has broken a glass ceiling. 

It’s also hard to imagine party members rallying behind a Black woman if this had been a bid for prime minister, not just party leadership. Looking at this week’s US election results, when it came down to who would run the country, voters decided that a Black woman was a stretch — even when pitted against a convicted felon. Britain may be a different country but it is no post-racial utopia. Ours is a country where a major Tory donor said looking at Labour MP Diane Abbott makes you “want to hate all Black women”, and where Black MPs are mistaken by their colleagues in Westminster for cleaners. 

When we consider what Badenoch has said and stands for, it’s deeply patronising to expect Black women to be excited about her appointment or be asked to “put politics aside”. The politics of a politician is the only thing we should be judging them on. How else can we assess their suitability? Their views directly shape their policies, which in turn impact our lives. In September, Badenoch wrote in an article for The Sunday Telegraph that “not all cultures are equally valid” when discussing who should be allowed into the UK. This kind of perspective shapes the laws and rules that govern how people from different backgrounds are treated, ultimately impacting people’s lives by either providing opportunities or limiting them based on cultural biases. If someone in a position of power holds this view, for instance, it might lead to discriminatory immigration policies against certain nationalities. How can we expect Black women, who are from “other” cultures, to feel excited about a politician who insinuates their culture is less valuable than British culture? 

In the same Telegraph article, Badenoch wrote: “Our country is not a dormitory for people to come here and make money.” This reinforces the hostile, “nasty” reputation of a faction within the Tory party whose policies have marginalised people of colour in this country for years.

To imply that Black women should be grateful for any Black representation, irrespective of the impact of that representation, is an example of tokenism that falls far short of what we deserve. 

Kemi Badenoch’s presence and representation is a symptom of the very neocolonialism that Badenoch says she “doesn’t care” about. It gives the appearance of progress, allowing a person of colour a seat at the table while continuing to ensure they are in the minority, their views reflecting the views of the majority so that they can’t make real change or disrupt the status quo. Political parties on the right have continually put just enough people from marginalised groups in power. It creates the illusion of inclusivity, while the voices of the party faithful remain the loudest. 

Let me be explicitly clear: When Black women say we want Black women in politics, we’re talking about substantive representation. We want Black women in power who will fight for changes that benefit us as women, who understand the issues we face today: cuts to public services and regressive welfare measures that have taken more income away from Black women than our white or male peers; unequal pay gaps in the workplace; the poor mental and maternal health outcomes we suffer because of discrimination, among many other issues. 

So no, Badenoch’s win is about as exciting as Harris’ loss. If we have Black women in politics who are uninterested in fighting for us (as in Badenoch’s case) or who aren’t trusted to lead and therefore not given a mandate (as in Harris’ case), we won’t get very far. Asking Black women to celebrate Badenoch’s presence in British politics while ignoring the fact that much of what she stands for harms us is absurd.

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