Dear Men,
Over the past few years, many brave women I know have shared their #MeToo stories—both publicly and privately. It’s been heartbreaking and infuriating to realize just how many of my friends have experienced rape, sexual assault, harassment, or domestic violence. Far more than I ever could have imagined.
I know other women have felt this way too, the silence from men I know has been deafening.
I feel like men will post about anything, comment or “like” anything except issues surrounding rape and sexual assault.
At this point, you don’t get to pretend you don’t know what women deal with. We see your apathy.
No one should have to say “mothers, sisters, daughters” as if women only matter in relation to men. We shouldn’t have to prove our suffering or justify our fear of daily violence just to be seen as human. I shouldn’t have to explain how the patriarchy harms men, too, in order for our pain to be taken seriously. Women matter. Full stop.
Whenever I share something about rape, consent, misogyny, or sexism, it’s almost always women who respond. Among my male friends, I can count on one hand—maybe two—the number of men who have ever spoken out on social media. Men who’ve expressed outrage, shown a desire to learn, stood up for women, or even just shared an article.
I’ve quietly taken note of them. In my mind, they’re safe spaces. If someone harassed me, I believe they’d take it seriously. They’d help. They’d listen.
Many men I know seem to believe that because they personally don’t assault or rape women—and because they wouldintervene if they saw a woman being physically attacked—that they’re doing enough in the fight against sexism and rape culture.
But that is not enough. That is the bare fucking minimum. The baseline for being a decent human being.
I’ve had men tell me it’s not their place to speak up—that they don’t want to center themselves, that they’ve heard men can’t be feminists, or that they shouldn’t say anything because they can’t fully understand what women go through.
Let me tell you: silence is not the answer.
Who exactly do you think should be doing the work with other men? Just women? On top of everything else we already carry?
You have privilege. And because of sexism, there are men who will take your words more seriously than they ever would mine. Use your voice. That’s part of the work.
Not to mention the immense amount of emotional labor that I—and so many other women—have taken on, standing up for men who are suffering under the weight of toxic masculinity perpetuated by other men. We’ve played therapist to men whose fathers were abusive or unfaithful, men who were fat-shamed or bullied by their peers, men who struggled to process emotions or regulate their moods because of the rigid, harmful expectations of masculinity imposed by the patriarchy.
It’s been frightening at times to witness men’s anger, even when it wasn’t directed at me. And too often, these men hadn’t done the self-work required to show up for me in return.
I care deeply for the men in my life. But it’s time for men to start doing this work with each other—encouraging one another to seek help, to unlearn toxic behaviors, and to grow. Romantic partners are not supposed to be unpaid therapists. That’s not love—that’s labor.
I recently asked a couple of my male friends why they don’t speak out or advocate for women. They said they just don’t post much on social media.
But here’s the thing—you might downplay the impact of social media, but it’s a powerful tool. It starts conversations. It signals your values. It lets people know where you stand. Silence, even online, still says something.
Tarang Chawla is an excellent example of a feminist man using his platform to advocate for women.
Even in real life I am hard pressed to think of very many times men have brought up any of this in conversation or asked me questions about sexism, how to be an ally to women, rape culture or feminism.
I understand the fear of saying the wrong thing—but staying silent because of that makes it about you. I’ve been there myself. There were times I didn’t speak up about racism because I was afraid of getting it wrong, and I regret that. I’m sorry for it.
You will get it wrong sometimes. We all do. But you can be open to feedback. You can listen, learn, and do better. That’s how growth happens. Silence doesn’t protect anyone—it just maintains the status quo.
There is a plethora of feminist books, podcasts, articles and Instagrams if you want to have a better understanding. You could start by amplifying the voices of women who have been doing this work such as the incredible Wagatwe Wanjuki or maybe even sharing this article.
Also remember that your feminism should be intersectional. “Intersectional feminism is looking at not only the myriad aspects of our identity—our race, our gender, our sexual orientation, but how power and oppression play in those,” Malika Sharma, MD
I can think of so many times when the only contribution a man made to a conversation about gender equality was to bring up women “lying,” minimize what I shared, or jump in defensively with “not all men.” Rarely was there curiosity. Rarely a desire to change anything. No questions. No effort to understand. No listening. No empathy.
I get that these conversations are uncomfortable—but I need you to care. We need you to care. Because without your willingness to engage, nothing changes.
Men, I really want to know:
Were you horrified by Brock Turner?
Did you listen to the #MeToo stories?
Do you want justice for R. Kelly’s victims?
Did the “grab them by the pussy” tape make your skin crawl?
Did you mourn for the six Asian women murdered in Atlanta? For Sarah Everard?
Do you feel empathy?
Do you care?
Will you stand up for women?
Will you do the work to educate yourselves and unlearn your misogyny?
Will you acknowledge where you’ve harmed women, even unintentionally?ologize and do better? Will you step up and have uncomfortable conversations doing the work with other men?