These days, I have been swinging between deep rage and feeling a deep sense of betrayal.
A deep rage rises in me when I see men posting things like “we’re not mad enough” about the Epstein files — as if they have never witnessed a cis man treat a woman with contempt. As if they have never heard the degrading jokes. As if they have never seen sexual harassment unfold right in front of them. As if they have never watched a woman be interrupted, dismissed, or humiliated in a workplace meeting. As if they have never seen a friend pressure a woman who had already said no. As if they have never looked away when a woman was made uncomfortable, unsafe, or small.
As if sexism were some distant phenomenon they have only just discovered.
As if they themselves had not been the first ones participating in it.
The reason we are not witnessing cis men walking down our streets to organize against patriarchy, femicide, attacks on trans people, or child sexual abuse in the same way we see them mobilize for Palestine, the Congo, or other issues that more directly affect them is not mysterious.
For generations, people whose identities fall outside the dominant cisgender male norm have organized not only for their own survival, but for everyone else as well. Women, queer and trans people, and other marginalized communities have repeatedly carried struggles that extend far beyond themselves.
And yet the reverse rarely happens.
I have been feeling betrayed by women who call themselves feminists and yet refuse to believe survivors and children.
By women who keep repeating — to others and to themselves — the comforting lie of “not all men.” As if the problem were simply a matter of picking the right one. As if the difference between harm and safety came down to some personal virtue of theirs, something they did right that allowed them to attract the mediocre man they now call great.
