Let’s be clear: Black Women’s Equal Pay Day is not just a date on the calendar—it’s a glaring receipt, marked by exhaustion, resilience and the deep cost of being chronically underpaid.

Black Women’s Equal Pay Day, observed on July 10, 2025, symbolizes how far into the year Black women must work to earn what white, non-Hispanic men earned by the end of 2024, highlighting a staggering reality: Black women who work full-time year round make just 66 cents on the dollar nationally. Over a 40-year career, that disparity can result in nearly $1 million in lost earnings.

In the immortal words of Fannie Lou Hamer, “We are sick and tired of being sick and tired.”

In Mississippi, the gap is even wider: Black women here, including part-time and seasonal workers, earn just 53 cents on the dollar. And as if things couldn’t get worse, as of June 2025, the unemployment rate for Black women, not just in Mississippi but nationwide, rose to 6.1 percent —up from 5.1 percent in March, which was the highest jump of any demographic group, according to the U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics.

But here’s the thing: We’ve done enough explaining about why closing the wage gap among Black women and white men is critical, pointing to its direct impact on our families’ economic stability, access to essential healthcare services, safe housing, childcare and overall safety. Bottom line, the check is long overdue, and now—particularly on the heels of vast Medicaid cuts and SNAP reductions among other life shifting setbacks—Black women must demand it.

In this demand for equal pay, we must push each other to make this an issue in the boardrooms, break rooms and, most of all, at the ballot box. Nationally, we must continue to push for policies like the Paycheck Fairness Act, which would strengthen the Equal Pay Act by banning salary history questions, enforcing transparency and protecting workers from retaliation when they talk about pay.

In Mississippi, we are hard at work in our effort to strengthen our state’s so-called “equal pay” law, an outrageous sham and devastating setback for women in the state—especially Black women, shortchanging them thousands of dollars each year due to gender and racial wage gaps. Under the guise of equity, this law rubber stamps employers’ decisions to pay women less than men for equal work by explicitly allowing them to rely on applicants’ prior salary history and on continuity of employment history to set pay. It suggests that it would be acceptable to compensate a woman less than a man performing the same work simply because she may have taken time away to welcome a child or care for a sick loved one. Such a precedent only serves to further entrench gender pay disparities across Mississippi’s workforce, similar to other workforces across the South, unfairly penalizing women for the roles and responsibilities society so often expects them to bear.

We must also advocate for the Equal Rights Amendment to actually enshrine gender equity into the U.S. Constitution, giving Black women stronger tools to fight wage discrimination head-on.

And we can’t forget to call upon the powerful legislative tools we have, including the Lilly Ledbetter Fair Pay Act, which ensures that workers can file wage discrimination claims within 180 days of receiving a discriminatory paycheck, rather than from the date of the discriminatory decision. This law extends the time window for workers to seek redress for pay discrimination, helping to address ongoing pay disparities based on gender, race, or other protected characteristics.

We must educate workers about their rights under federal law, as well as train our young people on how to negotiate their wages.

And when elected officials fail to act in the interest of our pocketbooks, we must speak up—and loudly. We must urge each other to call these lawmakers about it. To write them. To show up to their offices. To support allies such as Connecticut Rep. Rosa DeLauro and Washington Sen. Patty Murray, who have long fought for equal pay for Black women, while holding accountable those who have not.

This fight is far from theoretical for me. I grew up in Jackson in the 1970s, with my mom and aunt hiding me in utility closets as a toddler while they cleaned state agency buildings across the street from the State Capitol—the same Capitol where lawmakers have repeatedly refused to raise the minimum wage for its people. This wasn’t neglect. It was survival. Just like the mothers and aunties of today, they worked multiple jobs, barely scraping by, and still came up short. On top of that, they were penalized for asking questions about their pay, or for taking time off work to safely have their children. Or they were docked pay because they dared to serve as caregivers to family members who needed them, and passed over for well-deserved promotions, all while being gaslit into believing they just “needed to work harder” to earn what they were worth.

As Black women, we have long been told we must “lean in,” work smarter, or just do more—as if doing these things will close the wage gap. But the truth is, this gap has never been about effort. It’s rooted in good old-fashioned racial and gender discrimination. Since the very beginning, Black women have been underpaid, undervalued, and overrepresented in pay inequity, many of us barely making ends meet in the 40 lowest-paying jobs in America—roles that often lack even the most basic protections for us and our families, like health insurance or paid leave.

Enough.

Across the South, Black women—including Rep. Zakiya Summers and Sen. Angela Turner Ford, who are both in the Mississippi Legislature and are vocal advocates for equal pay and workplace equity—are championing policies to fight salary secrecy, expand paid leave and Medicaid equitable parental support, and centering the needs of working families. They, alongside the rest of us, reject the bald-faced lie that there’s just “not enough in the budget” for Black women around pay, reminding anyone who’ll listen just how critical our labor has been to this country, and just how much the U.S. economy depends on us continuing to help hold it up.

Black women must demand that the Trump Administration and Congress end the attack on Black women’s economic security by once again embracing diversity, equity and inclusion programs, not continuing its slashing of federal jobs, and working with intention to strengthen the workplace rights that benefit all Americans. The check is long overdue, and we’re not leaving the table without it.

A version of this op-ed was originally published in the July 10, 2025, Madamenoire.

Cassandra Overton Welchlin is the executive director of the Mississippi Black Women’s Roundtable, where she advocates for the economic security and civic engagement of Black women and girls. With more than two decades of experience in policy reform and grassroots organizing, she has been featured in national media and received multiple awards for her leadership. Cassandra is a licensed social worker, a fellow of the W.K. Kellogg Foundation, and a proud member of Delta Sigma Theta Sorority, Inc. She lives in Mississippi with her husband and three children.

Image: Cassandra Overton Welchlin (via Mississippi Black Women’s Roundtable)

I’ve sat in a Mississippi prison where the toilet didn’t work.

Where the medical chart was a lie.

Where a woman looked me in the eye and said, “They only listen when I scream.”

We talk a lot about prison reform these days. We say it with urgency, with buzzwords, with a polished sense of policy that looks great on a legislative tracker or a grant proposal. But I’ve been doing this work for years and here’s what I know:

Most of the conversations about prison reform aren’t about people.

They’re about systems. Budgets. Efficiency. “Safety.”

And they miss the point.

The system isn’t broken. It’s working how it was built.

I’ve represented clients who are blind, deaf, paralyzed, diabetic, pregnant, mentally ill, developmentally delayed — and incarcerated.

Many of them were incarcerated because of their disabilities, or because they were poor, or because the systems that should have intervened early — housing, education, mental health — never did. So, prison became the last stop.

For some of them, the abuse started as soon as they walked in. Others waited months for medication. Many were punished for behaviors directly related to their diagnoses.
I’ve seen women who were denied access to feminine hygiene products, who bled through their clothes. I’ve seen deaf men go without interpreters for court hearings, healthcare visits, disciplinary hearings. I’ve seen people punished for “noncompliance” when they were in medical crisis.

You can’t reform a system unless you admit what it’s doing.

And what it’s doing is disappearing people.

The problem with policy-only solutions

I’ve read hundreds of bills and policy proposals that use phrases like “evidence-based alternatives to incarceration,” “population reduction” or “improved oversight mechanisms.”

But let me tell you what a woman with an untreated prolapsed uterus cares about: Clean pads. Dignity. And a nurse who doesn’t shrug.

Let me tell you what a man with schizophrenia and diabetes cares about: Not being locked in a cell for 23 hours with a broken sink and a missing inhaler.

That’s not a "population statistic." That’s a person. And prison reform that doesn’t start and end with people — and the brutal specificity of their lived experience — isn’t reform. It’s rebranding.

If we really wanted to fix it

If we were serious about prison reform, we’d do more than close a few facilities or reword a few job descriptions.

We’d staff our prisons with trauma-informed providers.

We’d enforce the ADA with the same vigor we enforce the rules about commissary.

We’d stop treating solitary confinement as a catch-all for medical care.

And we’d create real systems of accountability — not internal grievance processes designed to exhaust, delay and ignore.

We’d fund advocacy.

We’d welcome litigation.

And we’d listen when people whisper, not wait until they scream.

Why I’m still here

I work as litigation director at Disability Rights Mississippi. My job is to make the system see what it wants to ignore — to bring lawsuits, yes, but also to bear witness.

Sometimes, our wins feel too small. A transfer granted. A medication refilled. A ramp installed six months too late. But those small wins are reform. They are resistance against a system that thrives on delay and invisibility.

So, when I hear people talk about prison reform like it’s just about closures and cost-savings, I want to shake the conversation loose.

Because what we need isn’t just reform.

We need remembrance.

Of who’s inside.

Of what they’ve endured.

And of what we owe them.

This article originally appeared in The Magnolia Dispatch.

Greta Kemp Martin is a Mississippi attorney, social justice advocate and lifelong southerner who believes “change travels on the back of a good story, a strong cup of coffee and the kind of grit that doesn’t ask permission.” She publishes The Magnolia Dispatch, where “law, policy and lived experience come home to roost.”

Image: Razor wire atop a prison fence (via The Journalist’s Resource/Pixabay)

Mississippi’s “brain drain” has long been discussed as a core issue to tackle in reclaiming the state’s vitality and future economic prospects. But an important dynamic is affecting this phenomenon, and its impacts may be less well-understood.

Mississippi is acutely impacted by winter ice storms, spring tornadoes, fall wildfires and summer hurricanes, and the economic fallout from these occurrences are lasting and sometimes irreversible. For Mississippi property owners, the aftershocks are even more pronounced. Ask any affected homeowner, and you’re likely to hear them mention that their insurance premiums have increased over the last several years.

According to industry professionals, fluctuating insurance rates lead to increased premiums. Insurance rates are determined by inflation, reinsurance rates and natural catastrophes.

The property insurance market in places like Louisiana, Florida and California looks drastically different from what we’re familiar with in Mississippi due to those states’ even greater susceptibilities to natural disasters. Major insurance companies have pulled out of these markets, leaving some homeowners with few viable choices to protect their properties. In some areas, annual premiums increased by 33 percent in just three years -- from an average of $1,902 in 2020 to $2,530 in 2023. The biggest increases occurred in zip codes with the highest disaster risk, and these zip codes contain higher non-white populations and lower income individuals.

“On older houses valued at less than $200k, closer to the water, monthly insurance costs can exceed the monthly cost of the house,” observed Amanda D’Angelo at Coastal Realty Group in Gulfport, Miss. “Sellers might have to be willing to accept less money for their homes because insurance costs too much.” To a first-time home buyer looking to establish a long-term residence in the state, this situation can seem untenable. What does this mean for Mississippi families? What does it mean for the next generation? We want young Mississippians to resist the brain drain, but at what cost to them?

Role of the insurance commissioner

In Mississippi, the commissioner of insurance and state fire marshal (the full official title) licenses and regulates the practices of all insurance companies, agents, burial associations, fraternal societies, bail bondsmen and other entities engaged in the insurance business. Mississippi is currently one of 12 states that elect insurance commissioners. Commissioner Mike Chaney lobbied the legislature to make the role appointed by the governor in a bid to “take the politics out” of the role. The bill, sponsored by Senate Insurance Committee Chair Walter Michel (R-Ridgeland), died in the legislature last week.

An increase in insurance costs means that companies are driven to increase premiums to make a profit. Contrary to what some believe about the role of the office of insurance commissioner, it does not set insurance rates, but it does approve recommendations set by the insurance companies. Ideally, the insurance commissioner serves as a buffer between revenue-driven private insurance companies and property owners with few options.

Currently, insurance companies claim that the increases in rates — and therefore premiums — are due to the cost of natural disasters and inflation. However, according to some experts, homeowners insurance premiums rose 40 percent faster than inflation over a five-year period. Appointed or elected, every insurance commissioner is meant to be a representative of the people — not a government official serving on behalf of private insurance companies looking to guarantee a big profit.

House Bill 1534

Rep. Kevin Ford (R-Vicksburg), an insurance agent who chairs the House committee on Accountability, Efficiency and Transparency, authored the Make Mississippi Resilient and Strong Act. This bill would create the Mississippi Windstorm Mitigation Association, to provide financial grants to property owners for retrofitting their properties to withstand severe windstorm events. The maximum grant amount for any insurable property is capped at $15,000. Members of the association are to include member insurers authorized to write property insurance coverage in the state, and non-admitted insurers deemed eligible to conduct business in the state. To recap, admitted insurance companies set rates, recommend those rates to the insurance commissioner for approval, then those rates become a part of property owners’ premiums.

Who are the non-admitted insurers that will be allowed in the Mississippi Windstorm Mitigation Association? They provide what’s called surplus lines insurance, a type of property insurance that covers risks that standard insurance companies won’t cover. Sometimes this includes things like expensive antiques or even golf carts. Surplus lines insurance also covers properties in areas that admitted insurers (think State Farm and Allstate) deem too risky to insure, including in hurricane- and tornado-prone areas. The concern here is that there is no limit to how much surplus lines insurance companies can charge in premiums, and their rates do not have to be approved by the insurance commissioner. It’s a risky deal for consumers to compensate for what insurance companies deem as risky coverage for them.

What does this mean for Mississippi?

Gov. Tate Reeves spends a lot of social media time talking about how great it is to live in Mississippi due to a lower cost of living, an increase in development projects in certain areas of the state, and improvements in public education. As Mississippians strive to make the state a better place to live, it is worth remembering that greatness lies with its people — particularly those who resist the call to leave our home state for the more prosperous locales like Atlanta, Dallas or Nashville. Conservatives have long fashioned themselves as pro-business. The insurance industry and all of its intricacies was not created by the Mississippi commissioner of insurance. However, our leaders must ensure that consumers are protected, and that young Mississippians aiming for their own piece of the “Mississippi miracle” are guaranteed a fighting chance.

As our legislators fight about tax cuts and reduced spending, we can only hope that the savings will stay in our pockets — money we can use to try to establish lives, families and futures in Mississippi — and doesn’t get eaten up by expenses like basic property insurance.

Kelcy Higgins, an Ole Miss grad from Greenville, has spent nearly a decade in progressive politics advocating for reproductive justice and economic equity for all Mississippians.

Image: photo illustration by Meddy Garnet (via Creative Commons)