‘Who Will Revere the Black Woman?’ Remembering Nancy, Cerina and So Many More

Even though I did not know Nancy Metayer, my heart is utterly broken by the loss of her life and the violence of her death. The night before her funeral, I joined a virtual vèyè in her honor—a space to keep watch, to remember her impact and to hold one another in communal care.

That same day, news broke about Dr. Cerina Fairfax, also killed in her home. I did not know her either, and still, I was gutted.

Nor did I know Pastor Tammy McCollum, Ashly Robinson, Qualeisha Barnes, Davonta Curtis or Barbara Deer—Black women killed in just a matter of weeks. And to think these are only the names we know.

In moments like this, I find myself returning to a question first posed by Abbey Lincoln decades ago: “Who will revere the Black woman?” The reality of this violence—and the way it is so often explained away or softened—makes that question feel as urgent as ever.

Black feminists have long named the patterns, the structures and the stakes. And still, we are left mourning, naming and insisting: We will not let their lives be forgotten. We will continue the work in their honor—because we revere them.

Eric Swalwell and the Persistent Problem of Silent Complicity

The Eric Swalwell scandal is an altogether familiar and tired exercise: When allegations surface against a powerful man, the people around him scramble to distance themselves, downplay what they knew, or deny any knowledge at all. And yet, time and again, these cases are described as “open secrets.”

The real question is not just what he did, but what the people around him saw, heard and chose not to act on.

This is where the conversation needs to shift. For decades, sexual assault prevention educators have argued that we need to move beyond the perpetrator-victim binary and focus on the role of bystanders: What could colleagues have done? What kept them from speaking up?

The pressure to be “one of the guys,” to not rock the boat, to protect friendships or careers, remains enormously powerful. If we are serious about preventing abuse, institutions like Congress need to do more than react after the fact. They need to equip people, especially men, with the tools, the permission and the expectation to intervene before harm escalates.

This Phoenix Dad, Husband and Doctor Just Helped Change Abortion Rules in Arizona

What kind of man would sue the state of Arizona on behalf of the women here? Dr. Paul Isaacson.

Thanks to his recent win court (with legal lead the Center for Reproductive Rights), women in Arizona are no longer forced to go through a 24-hour period between scheduling and getting an abortion, which is an outdated practice that suggests women can’t make rational decisions. They also no longer have to listen to state-mandated, antiabortion propaganda before ending a pregnancy.

“All of these requirements were done under the guise of improving healthcare for women, which they did not,” he says. “I can’t imagine a similar situation with anything to do with a man’s health. It felt like we were talking down to women. I think that’s been one of the major drivers for me in being active and challenging these laws, because they are so dishonest.”

These Fathers of Trans Children in the U.S. Are Deconstructing Their Own Masculinity to Become Better Parents

The Dads, a new feature-length documentary, follows the fathers of trans, nonbinary and gender-expansive children as they weather the rapid escalation of anti-trans legislation in the United States over the past two years. Directed and produced by Luchina Fisher, the film debuted last month at the South by Southwest (SXSW) Film Festival.

The film bears witness to parents’ struggle with whether to stay in the United States or move abroad in face of bans on restrooms, sports and gender-affirming care for trans youth.

In the end, The Dads is about faith—faith in the experiment of the United States, faith in dads to know who their children are and how best to protect them, and faith in all dads to grow and learn who they are. 

We Need a Word for What’s Happening to Jewish Women

Ever since I’ve been writing about slut-shaming, I’ve been called a slut and a whore.

In the 1990s, the age of doorstopper phone books (the kind with white pages and yellow pages), I received alarming letters delivered to my mailbox. In the early 2000s, the letters morphed into emails. And when I began posting on Instagram, the insults followed me there, too.

Over three decades, the insults were consistent: I was called various synonyms for prostitute and vagina, and an ugly pedophile for good measure. The hatred was misogyny—targeted, specific and designed to put me back in my place.

Then Hamas brutally attacked Israel on Oct. 7, 2023, and Israel retaliated in a devastating war in Gaza. The insults changed. I am no longer a regular slut and a whore; I am a “Jewish whore,” a “chosenite supporting the porn industry,” and a “whore” whom everyone could agree was bad apart from “tribes who hate Jesus.” 

I call it “misogynam” (mih-SAH-jih-NAHM)—the intertwined violence of anti-Semitism and misogyny directed at Jewish women.

Netflix Documentary ‘Inside the Manosphere’ Exposes a Digital Pipeline to Misogyny

On March 11, Netflix released Inside the Manosphere, a new documentary by Louis Theroux that hit the No. 1 spot on Netflix. It is an uncomfortable but necessary examination of how the manoverse—a loose conglomeration of men’s rights and red pill influencers, podcasters and politicians—exploits and harms young boys and teenagers.

At the heart of the documentary is a profound inequity in the influencer space between the experiences and expectations of men and women. While the male content creators are eager to proclaim traditional values, they exalt “one-sided monogamy,” where they expect women to remain loyal to them (“my wife doesn’t talk to any men”) while they have multiple partners. While they shame women who do sex work on OnlyFans, one of the influencers, Harrison Sullivan, funds an OnlyFans creator house. His excuses—that it’s just business, that he would never allow his own daughter to do OnlyFans—attempts to create distance and deniability between him and his commercial choices and consequences. 

A majority of the influencers Theroux speaks to seem to be aware of the harm they cause. Sullivan even warns Theroux that young teenage boys should not be watching their content, and blames the parents that would allow their children to consume this content. Several seconds later, we see the influencer taking photos with young fans.

What’s worse is witnessing how damaging the manosphere rhetoric is to men.

When content creator Justin Waller meets up with two of his fans on the street, one of them shares, “He’s one of my greatest role models,” and when asked what he has learned from Waller and others’ content says, “Life as a man, you’re born without value. We have to build that value.” Waller jumps in and says that women are born with value because of their beauty but “nobody’s gonna invite him on a trip to Miami. … He has to be valuable to other men.”

How devastating that these men are raised not just to accept, but to thank, influencers and content creators that tell them they are born without inherent value. 

Missiles, Memes and Masculinity: When the White House Turns War Into Entertainment

Following the illegal strikes of war against Iran, the White House transitioned from traditional diplomacy to digital propaganda, releasing a series of highly stylized videos that blurred the lines between state-sanctioned violence and Hollywood entertainment. By splicing real military strikes with iconic imagery from films like Gladiator and John Wick, the administration did more than just trivialize the human cost of an illegal war; it reanimated an antiquated patriarchal script that equates manhood with domination.

Beyond the troubling optics of movie tropes and videogame aesthetics lies a deeper systemic framework. As we navigate the twenty-first century, the real challenge facing American society is not the defeat of “enemies” abroad, but the transformation of manhood at home. To build a more humane world, we must move beyond the spectacle and embrace a courage defined by care, empathy and the bravery to reject violence, even when our own government insists that violence is what makes a man.

The Missing Voices in the Epstein Files’ Media Commentary: Sexual Assault Prevention Educators

The Epstein files scandal has all the elements of a gigantic media spectacle. It encompasses everything from true crime to political intrigue, and offers a peak behind closed doors into the lifestyles of the rich and famous. It has more than a little sex and violence. 

It’s a conspiracy theory come to life.

Media commentary has explored seemingly every angle. Or has it? On closer examination, something has been missing.

When in Doubt, Blame Young Women: The Evergreen Electoral Existential Crisis of Young Women in U.S. Politics

While the right-wing media ecosystem views young women as an affliction, the Democratic Party risks taking this group for granted and overlooking their real-life concerns.

Women are more likely to support Democratic candidates than their male counterparts. This pattern, coined the “gendergap” by Ellie Smeal, has remained a fixture of American politics in every presidential election since 1980. That support shows that women’s Democratic support is consistent and can be politically decisive. Still, this support should not be taken for granted.

‘She Rubbed Me the Wrong Way’: Why Trump Punished a Woman Head of State for Saying No

Under the Jan. 21 headline “‘She Just Rubbed Me the Wrong Way’: Trump Suggests Swiss Tariffs Were Personal,’” The New York Times quotes Trump quoted as saying, she was “’so aggressive.”

Seeking to make sense of the existential anomie that flooded me after reading the article, it quickly became apparent that that much more was at play here than a clash of personalities, as suggested by Times’ headline. Accordingly, as I began envisioning the article I would write, my initial aim was to locate Trump’s remarks within the broader context of his administration’s attacks on women and the LGBTQ+ community.