*This article was written by Lina AbiRafeh, Henia Dakkak, and Azza Karam, published through Inter Press Service (IPS). The original article can be found here: https://www.ipsnews.net/2026/04/solidarity-for-whom/

The veil has been lifted — but not the one you think.

Not the veil the West has spent decades weaponizing. The veil now exposed is the one that concealed Western feminism’s selective solidarity — its silence on the women it was never truly fighting for. The “othering” of women from the South West Asian and North African region. In other words: us.

In Against White Feminism, Rafia Zakaria offers a powerful critique of how mainstream feminism often reinforces white supremacist, colonial, and patriarchal logics. The suffering of women of color becomes useful — deployable.

The image of the veiled, victimized woman, waiting to be saved, has long justified wars, interventions, and foreign policies driven not by liberation, but by imperial ambition. When these women resist on their own terms, they are ignored or discredited.

This pattern is not new. It is structural. Discrimination is embedded in the system. Palestine has simply made it undeniable. The silence that followed stripped away any remaining illusion that “we are in this together.” Feminist solidarity, it turns out, has limits — and some of us were never included.

That is the veil we lift today.

We speak as Arab women aged 50–65, activists and feminists with over a century of combined experience across 90 countries. We now live in the United States, where these contradictions are stark. We have paid a price for insisting on integrity. So have many others.

Across conversations with colleagues and communities, the message is consistent: the system is not broken — it functions exactly as designed.

Early feminist movements everywhere have grappled with patriarchy, sometimes resisting it, sometimes accommodating it. In the West, this struggle has often aligned uncomfortably with white supremacy.

In formerly colonized regions, patriarchy cannot be separated from colonialism, racism, or imperialism. These systems are intertwined; dismantling one requires confronting them all. This is where Western feminism consistently falls short.

Today, little has changed. The language is more polished. The imagery more diverse. But the underlying structures — and the values sustaining them — remain intact. Nowhere is this clearer than in how women from the South West Asian and North African region are treated by movements that claim to champion them.

The same logic that invoked Afghan women to justify military intervention now watches Palestinian women document their own destruction while offering silence — or excuses.

The data reflects this reality.

In the United States, anti-Muslim and anti-Arab discrimination rose sharply in 2024. The Council on American-Islamic Relations recorded 8,658 complaints — the highest since it began tracking in 1996. Employment discrimination alone accounted for 15.4% of cases. In 2025, these numbers climbed again. Rhetoric has consequences.

But numbers only tell part of the story. Women’s voices tell the rest.

One Arab aid worker described being sidelined after speaking publicly about Palestine following October 7:

“When I spoke about Ukrainian women, it was welcomed. When I spoke about Palestinian women, it was suppressed. I lost my work.”

Others describe being silenced on social media, accused of saying too much — or too little. Some were advised to remove their hijab for safety. Others were warned to avoid expressing views altogether to protect institutional reputations.

Yet another was denied the right to exercise leadership among her own staff, because as a Muslim from the Arab region, her ability to clearly articulate opinions, exercise judgement, and make decisions, was deemed ‘abusive’. One woman was denied employment because her call for “ceasefire and humanitarian aid” was deemed “too political.”

Western feminism often recoils at these truths. Yet Palestine is not only a political issue — it is a feminist one. All struggles against oppression are interconnected. Justice cannot be selective, even if its application often is.

Feminism demands confronting power, violence, and dehumanization wherever they occur. Palestinian women live at the intersection of multiple forms of oppression — patriarchy, occupation, militarization — and resist across all of them.

A feminism that ignores this reality is not feminism. It is complicity.

As Teju Cole describes, this is the logic of the “white savior industrial complex.” It operates through what can be called gendered orientalism: women from the South West Asian and North African region are portrayed as victims of culture, religion, or men — but rarely of bombs, sanctions, or occupation. This framing preserves the West as liberator while erasing its role in producing violence.

In the United States, the language differs but the outcome is the same. Conservatives fear Islam; liberals seek to save us from it. Both deny our agency. Both silence our voices.

We are rarely represented as we are: organizers, scholars, community leaders, mothers, activists, feminists.

This silence must be named clearly. It is not neutrality. It is complicity.

The credibility of any feminist movement rests on whether it stands with all women — especially when doing so is politically inconvenient.

We have paid the price for this failure: in erasure, in exclusion, in lost friends, in being told our grief is too complex and our politics too divisive.

What passes for solidarity is often conditional. It appears when it costs nothing and disappears when it demands accountability. Women from the South West Asia and North Africa were welcomed when our oppression reinforced dominant narratives. We became inconvenient when our liberation required confronting Western power itself.

Kimberlé Crenshaw introduced intersectionality to describe how overlapping identities produce compounded forms of discrimination. What we are witnessing now is an intersectional crisis: women from those regions face discrimination based simultaneously on race, religion, gender, and geopolitics. The very movement best equipped to confront this has gone largely silent.

From decades of work in conflict settings, one truth is clear: women from South West Asia and North Africa do not need to be singled out for ‘saving’.

We need the violence to stop.

We need colleagues to speak our names when it is difficult. We need those marching for human rights to recognize that feminism that excludes Gaza, Beirut, or Tehran is neither feminism nor human rights. It is branding — a convenient narrative that avoids confronting deeper structures of power.

Palestine has revealed a deeper truth: these systems were never designed to serve everyone. They were built by — and for — those in power.

What is required now is not reform at the margins, but a reckoning.

Solidarity demands accountability. If women’s rights are human rights, then they must apply to all women — without exception.

***

Lina AbiRafeh — Better4Women. Azza Karam and Henia Dakkak — Lead Integrity: House of Wisdom.

“I feel helpless” is something I keep hearing lately.

People are watching bombs and missiles destroy entire communities — schools, homes, lives — and they don’t know what to do.

From Lebanon, Palestine, Sudan, Iran, Yemen, Syria, and beyond — the region is bleeding.

The truth is that when bombs fall, the damage doesn’t end with the explosion. War leaves a legacy of trauma, destruction, and instability that lasts for generations.

But here’s the thing: even when we feel powerless, there are things we can do — no matter where we are in the world.

To help us all feel a little less helpless, here are five tangible actions you can take to support people who are losing everything.

Action 1: SPEAK UP.

No matter where you are, no matter your bank account, no matter your circumstances — we can all raise our voices.

Speaking up may feel like a small act, but collectively it matters. Public pressure shapes narratives and influences leaders. When people speak out together, momentum builds.

That can mean:

• joining peaceful protests
• signing petitions calling for ceasefires and disarmament
• sharing credible information and fundraising links
• reminding world leaders that bombs do not create peace

Solidarity matters. Silence never has.

We must stand together, with and FOR those under fire. Go here to find peaceful protests around the world.

Action 2: DONATE.

Whether it’s one dollar or one thousand, every donation helps.

During crises, it’s important to do a bit of research to ensure your money reaches people on the ground.

A few quick checks can help:

• Support smaller grassroots organizations when possible. Many are volunteer-run and spend less on overhead.
• Look at their social media presence. Are they sharing real updates from the ground? Are their followers genuine?
• Check their website for official charity or NGO registration numbers (often listed in the footer). You can verify these online.
• Ask questions. Reputable organizations will be transparent about their financials and impact.

Here are a few organizations doing important work:

1. In Lebanon: ABAAD-Resource Center for Gender Equality is working to coordinate relief efforts. They also have a survivor helpline.
2. In Sudan: ShelterBox delivers life-saving materials, clean water filters, tents, equipment to repair and rebuild homes.
3. In Iran: The NCRI Women’s Committee supports women’s movements advocating for a free Iran.

Action 3: SHARE.

Amplify voices from the ground.

Algorithms make it easier than ever — simply search relevant keywords, follow credible accounts, and engage with their content by liking, sharing, and reposting.

Some helpful hashtags include:

#MiddleEastNews
#NorthAfricaNews
#MENA
#WorldNews
#Geopolitics
#Iran
#Palestine
#Sudan
#Yemen
#Lebanon

Accounts amplifying important perspectives:

Instagram

• @arianajasmine__ — Iranian political commentary
• @eye.on.palestine — Updates from inside Palestine
• @sudansolidaritycollective — Sudan advocacy and updates
• @cocktailsandcapitalism — Accessible breakdowns of political issues
• @dear_white_staffers — Political education and advocacy
• @cultura_movement — Decolonial perspectives and news
• @theslowfactory — Justice, culture, and political education
• @ciara_moez — Iranian-American political commentary
• @eye.on.lebanon — News from Lebanon (Arabic with English translations)
• @humansofdahieh — Stories from communities in southern Lebanon
• @mrcodydahler — News round-ups with humor and commentary

Action 4: SUPPORT.

We live in a globalized world. Chances are you know someone whose family or community is directly affected by these crises.

A few simple guidelines can make a big difference.

Avoid saying things like:

• “I went to Dubai last year — this could have been me.”
• “I guess I’ll have to cancel my trip to Lebanon.”
• “There is always war in the Middle East.”
• “Seeing all this made me stop watching the news.”
• “I don’t like politics — I just want peace everywhere.”

Instead, try something simple — and human:

“I’m just checking in. I’m here if you need anything.”

And remember:

• Don’t make it about yourself
• Don’t romanticize war or suffering
• War is not a trend
• Destruction is never victory

Often the best support is simply listening.

Action 5: EDUCATE.

Too often, people expect those who are literally surviving war to explain it to them.

That’s not fair.

If you want to understand what’s happening, take the initiative to learn. Read widely. Listen carefully. Seek out perspectives from the region.

And approach the topic with humility.

The list is massive, but here are a few starting points:

News outlets

• Al Jazeera English
• Middle East Eye
• The New Arab

Podcasts

• Media Storm — Conversations with people directly impacted by global events
• The Big Picture (Middle East Eye) — In-depth analysis of regional politics
• Tea with Myriam Francois — Interviews and commentary on global affairs

Books

Black Wave — Kim Ghattas
A sweeping account of how the 1979 Iranian Revolution reshaped politics, religion, and culture across the Middle East.

Our Women on the Ground — Edited by Zahra Hankir
A powerful collection of essays by Arab women journalists reporting from across the region.

An African History of Africa — Zeinab Badawi
A sweeping retelling of Africa’s history from African perspectives, challenging dominant Western narratives.

Persepolis — Marjane Satrapi
A graphic memoir recounting Satrapi’s childhood in Iran during the Islamic Revolution.

And finally…

If you’re NOT from a country in crisis right now: YES, show solidarity, care, support. But NO, you do not know more than they do, and you cannot fully understand the experience. Empathy and respect… start there.

None of these actions alone will stop a war.

But silence, indifference, and disengagement guarantee that nothing will change.

Even small acts — speaking up, donating, sharing, supporting, learning — help build the collective pressure and solidarity that movements depend on.

Helplessness is understandable.
But inaction is unacceptable.

***

Need more ways to take action? Yes, you do!
www.Better4Women.com

I’ve written this blog every year. Every single year, I say: I hate International Women’s Day. And every year, I hate it a little more. I wrote it in 2021, and again in 2022, because nothing had changed. In 2023, I was choking on a pink cupcake. In 2024, I said: no “happy” International Women’s Day while my people are dying. I meant it then. I mean it even more now. Last year I wrote it for the men. This year I’m writing it for all of us — and for every woman who isn’t here to read it. I had decided not to write it this year. I had nothing new to say. And then I realized that silence, too, is a position. So here we are. Again.

Why do I hate this day?

I hate the one day every year when we’re supposed to pat ourselves on the back for progress that hasn’t arrived. As if designating a date on the calendar accelerates anything. Did we need a special occasion to remind us that we’re not equal? In 1911, women — and men — marched in the streets demanding the right to work, to vote, to hold public office. That was 115 years ago. We are still, in too many places and in too many ways, making the same demands. The UN’s official theme for 2026 is “Rights. Justice. Action. For ALL Women and Girls” — because no country in the world has closed the legal gaps between men and women. Right now, women hold only 64 percent of the legal rights that men have worldwide. Sixty-four percent. In fundamental areas of life — work, money, safety, family, property, mobility, business, retirement — the law is systematically stacked against us. That is not a reason to celebrate. That is a reason to be outraged. The theme demands the dismantling of discriminatory laws, weak legal protections, and the harmful norms that continue to erode the rights of women and girls. I agree. Now let’s actually do it.

According to the World Economic Forum, we are 123 years away from closing the global gender gap. The UN Women Gender Snapshot gives us 300 years. Either way — is anyone planning to still be here for that? I am not. And I am not willing to accept it. We’re generations — lifetimes! — away, and micro-movements changes nothing for the women living through inequality right now, today. I have said this before and I will keep saying it: the clearest indicator of a country’s capacity for peace, prosperity, and progress is not its form of government or the state of its economy — it is how that country treats its women. The data have proven this over and over. The world keeps ignoring it.

One in three women and girls worldwide will experience some form of violence in their lifetime. That is nearly 736 million people — more than double the entire population of the United States. This figure doesn’t even include sexual harassment. Women do the majority of unpaid labor on the planet. When we do work for pay, we earn less — in every sector, every country, every occupation. In positions of power, we remain largely invisible, and when we do break through, we’re still referred to as “the female CEO,” as if the modifier is the story and the job is the footnote. At the current pace, gender parity in national legislatures won’t arrive before 2063. Was 2023 a good year for women? I looked at the data — and the answer was no. Or 2024? 2025?! Clearly things haven’t gotten better since.

This year’s campaign slogan from the IWD website is “Give to Gain” — implying that feminist advocacy is some sort of transaction, a networking event, a corporate exchange. As if the 115-year fight for women’s liberation can be distilled into a tagline. This is what has happened to a day born in the labor and suffrage movements: it has been polished, branded, depoliticized, and handed back to us as a brunch invitation. The flowers. The discounts. Yesterday I bought a bra at 20% off because, well, “women’s day.” My boobs were celebrating — even if the rest of me was not.

And still every year there are “celebrations” and “sales” and LinkedIn posts praising women on the team. And the corporations tweeting solidarity while paying women less, year after year, the algorithm catching them at it — and nothing, year after year, changing. This day was born in resistance. It must stay rooted in resistance.

But this year, resistance itself feels almost impossible to hold onto.

My countries are Lebanon and Palestine. For nearly three years, I have watched a genocide unfold. For decades before that: occupation, displacement, destruction — slow, steady, and largely ignored by a world that had other things to attend to. Since late February, the faux-ceasefire has collapsed. Again. The bombs are back. Brutally. The body counts are back. The media blockades are back. And women and children bearing the greatest weight, as they always do. Western feminism has long branded non-white suffering as simply “what happens over there,” as though our pain is background noise, as though Brown and Black women are inherently less feminist, less grievable, less worth centering. I reject that. I have always rejected it.

And day after day, I’m still told to tone it down, to post less, to be less… political. My entire job, my entire existence, is to be political. And I am getting passed up for work because I’m “too political.” As feminists, we are inherently political. If we are not political — what are we?!

I have a word for what I feel. It is Arabic: قهر — qahr. There is no clean translation into English. It sits somewhere between rage and persecution and a grief so deep it doesn’t have edges. It is the feeling you get when you dedicate your life to this work — three decades of it — and then watch hundreds of thousands more people become displaced virtually overnight. Uprooted. Erased. And the world moves on to the next headline. Sometimes I feel paralyzed. Then I remind myself to focus on the small piece I can actually do — and I pick up and keep going. But the weight of it does not lift.

Sudan barely registers in the news cycle while its people are dying. The DRC, where sexual violence continues with near-total impunity. Syria, where women fought with everything they had and found the ground shifting beneath them again. Lebanon, still working to form a government while its airspace is routinely violated. And bombed. The West Bank, where daily incursions and settler violence have become so normalized that the world has stopped flinching — if they ever did?

As feminists, we send our love and solidarity to every woman living through conflict, occupation, and displacement. Your courage is not a statistic. Your resilience is not a talking point. And your grief — your qahr — is shared. As is your rage.

And then there are the Epstein files.

Let me tell you about impunity — because it is the same story, just a different stage.

In January 2026, the US Department of Justice released more than three million pages of documents related to Jeffrey Epstein — a man who ran what a panel of UN Human Rights Council experts has described as a global criminal enterprise involving the systematic sexual abuse, trafficking, and exploitation of women and girls. Along with those pages: 2,000 videos and 180,000 images. The UN experts stated that the conduct documented — sexual slavery, trafficking, enforced prostitution, torture — may reasonably meet the legal threshold of crimes against humanity. “May?!” “Reasonably?!”… there’s nothing debatable about this. And there’s nothing reasonable about it either. We must call these what they are: Crimes against humanity. And the response from those in power? Heavy redactions. Botched disclosures that accidentally exposed victims’ identities. Suggestions, from official quarters, that it is time to move on. The experts were explicit: any suggestion that it is time to move on is unacceptable. The survivors described the process as “institutional gaslighting.” I cannot think of a more precise term. Hundreds of powerful men, their names circulating in those files, facing — in almost every case — nothing. No one too wealthy or too powerful to be above the law, the UN panel said. And yet, here we are. Bombing other countries to turn our attentions elsewhere.

This is what impunity looks like. This is what it has always looked like. Wealth buys distance from accountability. Power buys silence. And the women and girls who paid the price are told, again and again, in one form or another: not now. Not yet. Move on.

How, precisely, am I supposed to celebrate International Women’s Day in the shadow of all of this?

Here is what I know after thirty years of this work:

Without equality — real equality, not taglines and cupcakes — there is no peace. There is no justice. There is no sustainable future of any kind. The UN’s own theme this year says it: Rights. Justice. Action. For ALL women and girls. Not some. Not the ones in countries the world finds convenient to care about. ALL. That includes the women of Palestine and Lebanon and Sudan and the DRC and everywhere else the camera has stopped pointing. It includes the survivors of Epstein’s network, who have been let down by every institution that was supposed to protect them. It includes every woman paid less, silenced more, and told to be patient for another 132 years.

This day was born in resistance. It belongs to resistance. Not to discount brunches and corporate campaigns. Not to one day of noise and 364 days of nothing. Accountability, every day, until we no longer need this day.

Until then — I will keep writing this blog. And I will keep being angry. And I hope you are too.

***

For more, head to www.Better4Women.com and join the movement!

We are often told that the progress of a civilization is measured by its GDP, its military might, or the stability of its government. But these metrics tell us how states perform — not how people live. The truest measure is far simpler and far more revealing: the status of women. It is the clearest indicator of whether freedom, justice, and peace are real or rhetorical, whether dignity is distributed or denied.

When women are safe, educated, economically secure, and able to participate fully in public life, societies are more stable, more prosperous, and more peaceful. When women are marginalized, excluded, or harmed, it is rarely an isolated injustice — it is a warning sign that institutions are failing more broadly. The condition of women is not a “women’s issue.” It is a diagnostic tool for humanity itself.

At our current pace, the World Economic Forum estimates it will take 123 years to close the global gender gap. When we look specifically at legal equality — the laws that govern inheritance, mobility, employment, and protection from violence — the timeline stretches toward 300 years. In the Arab region, the projected wait is 185 years.

These numbers should shock us. Instead, they often pass as background noise — statistics in reports, talking points in conferences. But behind them are real lives delayed, opportunities denied, and generations told to wait their turn.

This is not a “clash of cultures,” nor is it evidence that some societies value women less. Women everywhere are pushing for change. The barriers they face are rooted in power — political systems, economic structures, and social norms that concentrate decision-making and resist redistribution. Inequality is not accidental; it is produced and maintained.

And in many places, progress is not simply slow — it is reversing.

We are witnessing the feminization of poverty. Women are disproportionately represented among the poorest globally, concentrated in informal labor, unpaid care work, and precarious employment. They earn less, own less, and have fewer safety nets. Economic shocks — from inflation to conflict — hit them first and hardest.

But statistics only capture part of the story. The most brutal expression of inequality is violence. One in three women worldwide will experience physical or sexual violence in her lifetime. This is not inevitable; it is tolerated. Violence thrives where accountability is weak and where women’s rights are treated as optional.

When crisis strikes — whether through the more than 130 active armed conflicts globally, climate disasters, pandemics, or economic collapse — existing inequalities accelerate. Crises do not create vulnerability; they expose and deepen it.

In these moments, women become the shock absorbers of society. They stretch limited resources, care for the injured, support displaced families, and maintain social cohesion when institutions falter. They are often the first responders in their communities — not because they are recognized as such, but because there is no one else.

Yet they are also the most at risk. Girls are often the first pulled out of school when families face hardship, and the last allowed to return. Health systems under strain frequently deprioritize maternal and reproductive services, even though these are essential to survival. Displacement increases exposure to exploitation and sexual violence. Something as basic as using a toilet or collecting water can become dangerous.

In Yemen, conflict has devastated the health system to the point where a woman dies roughly every two hours from pregnancy-related causes — deaths that are overwhelmingly preventable. This is not only a humanitarian crisis; it is a reflection of whose lives are deemed expendable.

In Palestine, women’s rights cannot be separated from the broader political reality. Decades of displacement, occupation, and recurring violence shape every aspect of daily life. In the Gaza Strip, restrictions on movement, infrastructure collapse, and repeated conflict have created conditions where basic services are fragile or absent. Women navigate pregnancy, caregiving, and survival in an environment of profound uncertainty, while also confronting increased violence and economic hardship.

And yet, focusing only on vulnerability misses a crucial truth: women are not merely victims of crisis — they are central actors in recovery and resilience.

From Afghanistan to Haiti, from Sudan to Ukraine, women organize communities, deliver aid, mediate disputes, and rebuild social networks when formal systems break down. Their leadership is often informal and under-recognized, yet indispensable.

In Rwanda, women played a pivotal role in rebuilding after genocide — restoring trust, reconstructing institutions, and redefining political participation. In Nepal, women mobilized local support systems after disasters, organizing community kitchens and mutual aid networks that sustained families when external assistance lagged. In Palestine, women journalists and activists continue to document realities on the ground, ensuring that narratives of suffering and resilience are not erased.

Research consistently shows that when women participate meaningfully in peace processes, agreements are significantly more likely to endure. Women often bring broader community concerns to negotiations — education, livelihoods, reconciliation — issues that address root causes rather than symptoms. Yet they remain excluded from formal negotiations, invited symbolically rather than empowered substantively.

We must move beyond counting how many women are in the room to asking whether they have real influence. Presence without power does not produce change.

The world is entering an era defined by overlapping crises — geopolitical tensions, climate instability, technological disruption, and widening inequality. We cannot afford incrementalism. Waiting a century for gender equality is not just unjust; it is strategically reckless.

If we are serious about building societies that can withstand shocks and sustain peace, we must fundamentally shift how we approach global challenges:

Listen to frontline women. They are often the first to detect rising tensions, food insecurity, or social fractures. Their insights are not anecdotal; they are early warning signals.

Fund women-led movements. Despite their proven impact, only a tiny fraction of gender-focused aid reaches local women’s organizations. These groups operate closest to communities and understand local dynamics best.

Decolonize aid. Too often, decision-making remains concentrated in external institutions. Centering local leadership and knowledge is essential to sustainable solutions.

Demand accountability. Governments and institutions must be held responsible when policies undermine women’s rights or when commitments remain unfulfilled.

Center women in leadership. Decisions made without women are incomplete. Inclusive leadership is not symbolic — it improves outcomes.

Ultimately, the question is not whether women will continue to push for equality. They will. The question is whether systems will evolve fast enough to match their leadership.

We do not need to keep proving that women’s rights matter. The evidence is overwhelming. What we need is political will — a recognition that equality is not a peripheral concern but the foundation of stable societies.

If we refuse to allow women to be sidelined in times of crisis — if we treat their rights as central rather than secondary — we will not have to wait 123 years for progress. We may discover that accelerating equality is one of the most powerful ways to secure peace itself.

Galentine’s Day, celebrated on February 13, began as a fictional holiday on the television show Parks and Recreation, where the character Leslie Knope, played by Amy Poehler, gathered her closest friends for waffles and unfiltered appreciation. What started as a scripted joke on an episode in 2010 has evolved into something culturally resonant and surprisingly necessary. In a world that has long centered romantic partnership as the ultimate expression of love, Galentine’s Day carved out space to honor platonic love, especially female friendship. And while its tone is often playful, its message is serious: love does not belong exclusively to romance, and our survival — emotional, psychological, even physical — depends on the strength of our connections to one another.

To understand why Galentine’s Day matters, we have to look at the cultural dominance of Valentine’s Day. February 14 traces its roots back to ancient Roman festivals and later Christian traditions honoring St. Valentine, but over centuries it evolved into a celebration of courtly love and eventually, in the industrial age, a commercial juggernaut. Today, Valentine’s Day is synonymous with roses, prix-fixe dinners, heart-shaped chocolates, and declarations of romantic devotion. It is one of the largest retail holidays in many countries, reinforcing a powerful narrative: romantic partnership is the primary, and perhaps most important, form of love.

There is nothing inherently wrong with celebrating romance. Deep, healthy partnership can be transformative. But the cultural script surrounding Valentine’s Day is narrow. It privileges coupled life. It elevates heterosexual norms historically, even as society has grown more inclusive. It implies that fulfillment is most legitimate when it is romantic. For those who are single, widowed, divorced, grieving, questioning, or simply in complicated seasons of love, February can feel less like a celebration and more like a spotlight on absence.

Galentine’s Day emerged as a counterbalance. It reframed love as something communal rather than exclusively romantic. It centered friendships, especially among women, in societies that often position women in competition with one another. Female friendships have long been the quiet infrastructure of resilience. They are spaces where ambitions are nurtured, wounds are tended, ideas are tested, and courage is cultivated. In living rooms and over late-night phone calls, women have built the emotional scaffolding that sustains families, workplaces, and movements. The suffrage movement, civil rights organizing, labor activism, and contemporary feminist advocacy have all been fueled by networks of trust and solidarity that began in intimate relational spaces.

To call Galentine’s Day a feminist celebration is not to exclude anyone; it is to recognize that centering platonic love challenges a hierarchy that places romance at the top and everything else beneath it. Friendship is not secondary. It is foundational. Platonic love provides care without possession, commitment without contract, and loyalty without legal binding. It often sustains us in ways that are less visible but no less profound. In an era where identity, partnership structures, and family forms are increasingly diverse, Galentine’s Day expands the definition of love to include chosen family, queer kinship networks, intergenerational mentorship, and community bonds that transcend traditional categories.

This expansion of love feels especially urgent now because we are living through what many public health experts describe as a loneliness epidemic. In 2023, the U.S. Surgeon General issued an advisory declaring loneliness and social isolation a significant public health concern. Research suggests that chronic loneliness is associated with increased risks of heart disease, stroke, dementia, depression, anxiety, and premature death. Some studies have compared the health impact of prolonged social isolation to smoking up to 15 cigarettes a day. These are not dramatic exaggerations; they are measurable outcomes.

Surveys across the United States and Europe indicate that a significant percentage of adults report feeling lonely on a regular basis. Young adults, despite unprecedented digital connectivity, often report some of the highest rates of isolation. Remote work has reduced incidental daily interactions.

The pandemic played a part in our social separation, certainly. At first out of necessity, and then for many out of habit. We lost the ability to be together in meaningful ways. Today, political divisions also play a role. We’re in an extremely polarized world, and disagreements on politics can rupture even the closest families and friendships.

Community institutions — faith groups, neighborhood associations, civic clubs — have seen declining participation over decades. Economic pressure compels longer working hours and geographic mobility, scattering families and fragmenting friendships. Social media can create an illusion of connection while deepening comparison and disconnection. Many people are surrounded by content but starved for presence.

Valentine’s Day can intensify this isolation. For someone sitting alone in a small apartment, scrolling through images of candlelit dinners and elaborate proposals, the cultural emphasis on couplehood can amplify feelings of inadequacy or invisibility. Even within relationships, people can feel lonely if emotional intimacy is lacking. Loneliness is not merely about physical solitude; it is about perceived disconnection.

Galentine’s Day, when taken seriously, pushes back against this narrative of scarcity. It asserts that love is abundant and multifaceted. It insists that showing up for friends is not an afterthought but a practice of collective care. Strong social ties are consistently linked to better mental health outcomes, lower stress levels, and greater life satisfaction. The presence of supportive friendships can buffer the impact of trauma and chronic stress. Some researchers have described women’s stress responses not only as fight-or-flight but also as “tend-and-befriend,” emphasizing the biological and psychological importance of social bonding as a coping mechanism. When we invest in friendship, we are not indulging in something trivial; we are strengthening our nervous systems and reinforcing our capacity to endure.

At its best, Galentine’s Day is not about brunch reservations or themed merchandise. It is not about curated photos of matching outfits and cocktails. It is about intentionally cultivating the relationships that hold us up. It is about calling the friend who just received difficult medical news and staying on the line longer than is convenient. It is about celebrating the colleague’s quiet promotion, mentoring a younger woman entering a challenging field, or reminding a friend that she is not alone in her doubts. It is about replacing competition with collaboration and scarcity with solidarity.

Of course, like any cultural moment, Galentine’s Day risks commercialization. There is a temptation to turn it into another shopping event, another aesthetic trend. But the heart of the day is not transactional. It is relational. The most meaningful celebrations may be simple: a shared meal cooked at home, handwritten notes of gratitude, an honest conversation about fears and dreams. In a society that often measures value in productivity and purchasing power, investing time and emotional labor into friendships is quietly radical.

The importance of celebrating love in all its forms becomes even clearer when we consider how many people are living on the margins of connection. Older adults who have outlived partners and peers often experience profound isolation. Young professionals who relocate for work may find themselves in cities where they know no one beyond coworkers. New mothers can feel invisible and untethered from their previous identities. Students studying far from home may struggle silently. Divorced individuals may lose not only partners but shared friend groups. LGBTQ+ individuals estranged from biological families may rely heavily on chosen family for survival. In each of these cases, friendship is not ornamental; it is essential.

And for those who are feeling persecuted or politically at risk in this moment, connection can be a lifeline. Immigrants navigating hostile rhetoric or uncertain legal status, refugees rebuilding their lives, people of color confronting rising hate incidents, trans individuals facing legislative attacks, religious minorities experiencing discrimination — these communities often carry an added layer of vigilance and stress. Research consistently shows that exposure to discrimination and social threat increases anxiety, depression, and physical health risks. In such climates, isolation compounds harm. Reaching out requires more than a casual invitation; it calls for intentional solidarity. It means checking in consistently, offering practical support, amplifying voices that are being silenced, and creating spaces where people can exhale without fear.

We are also living in a time when images of war crimes and genocide are brought directly onto our screens in real time. For myself and many others, this is not abstract geopolitics but personal grief — family members in danger, ancestral homelands under siege, communities erased. Even for those not directly connected, witnessing mass suffering day after day can produce a profound sense of helplessness, moral injury, and despair. The psychological weight of seeing devastation unfold in our feeds accumulates quietly. In these moments, friendship becomes a stabilizing force. Sitting with someone in their grief, acknowledging the horror without turning away, and resisting the urge to minimize or debate their pain are acts of love. When the world feels brutal and unstable, steadfast human connection becomes both refuge and resistance.

There is also a broader social implication. Societies fractured by polarization, mistrust, and inequality cannot heal without rebuilding relational fabric. Friendship across differences — of age, race, class, orientation, belief — can soften hardened narratives. When we practice loyalty and empathy in our intimate circles, we strengthen the muscles needed for civic engagement and collective action. Community care is the antidote to fragmentation.

When we expand our understanding of love beyond romance, we make room for these realities. We affirm that a life rich in friendship is a full and meaningful life. We also relieve romantic partnerships of unrealistic pressure. No single person can meet every emotional need. Healthy ecosystems of care require multiple relationships: friends, mentors, siblings, neighbors, colleagues. A culture that honors only one form of love strains that ecosystem.

If you are reading this and feeling isolated, know that your experience is shared by many, even if it is rarely spoken aloud. Loneliness thrives in silence. Reaching out can feel vulnerable, even risky, but small gestures matter. A single message can reopen a door. A simple invitation can create a new ritual. Connection often grows incrementally, not all at once.

If you are in a season of relational abundance, consider who around you might not be. Who is navigating a breakup quietly? Who just moved? Who has stopped showing up? Who could use a reminder that they are valued? Galentine’s Day can be an invitation to widen the circle.

Ultimately, the conversation is not about choosing between Valentine’s Day and Galentine’s Day. It is about enlarging our collective imagination of love. Romantic love deserves celebration, but it does not deserve exclusivity. Friendship deserves reverence. Community deserves intention. We are living in a time when loneliness is a public health crisis and social trust feels fragile.

But love is not in short supply because there is too little of it. It is in short supply because we often confine it to narrow channels. When we allow it to flow through friendships, mentorships, chosen families, and communities, it multiplies. Celebrating Galentine’s Day is one small but meaningful way of widening that channel. It is a reminder that we are stronger together, that care is collective, and that the kind of world we want to live in — more equal, more supportive, more kind — begins by simply showing up for one another.

Choosing to nurture platonic love is not just strategic. It is survival.

***

The above comes from my Feminist Firestarter Calendar — outlining 12 days and 12 ways to make a difference in the world. Go to www.Better4Women.com and get your own!

Iran is all over the news. And for good reason. What’s going on?

Here it is, in a nutshell: Iran is once again in the midst of widespread unrest. What began as protests over a collapsing economy — runaway inflation, an eroding currency, and the impossibility of everyday life — has rapidly become something deeper and more dangerous. People across the country are no longer just protesting prices. They’re openly challenging a system that has failed them for decades. The government’s response has been familiar and brutal: heavy security presence, mass arrests, lethal force, and widespread internet shutdowns to contain both organizing and visibility. The scale and intensity of this moment suggest a country under extraordinary pressure, facing one of its most serious internal crises in years.

This keeps happening… Why?

Warp-speed historic summary: In 1951, Iran nationalized its oil so its people could benefit from its resources. Western powers said nope! The US and UK backed a coup in 1953 to protect Western strategic and economic interests (read: oil) and to contain what they portrayed as a “Cold War threat.” In came Mohammad Reza Shah Pahlavi, who they hoped would be a “pro-western” leader. This move secured Western access to Iranian oil and aligned Iran more closely with the West — but it also undercut Iran’s democratic experiment and sowed resentment of foreign intervention. The Shah governed Iran from 1953 through 1979, enjoying strong support from the US and UK. His regime pushed rapid modernization and Westernization, but it was deeply authoritarian, brutal, and corrupt.

The situation exploded in 1979, with a revolution overthrowing the Shah and replacing him with the Islamic Republic under Ayatollah Khomeini. What began as a revolt against dictatorship and foreign interference hardened into a theocratic state that centralized power in clerical hands, crushed opposition, and framed itself in resistance to the West. Since then, Iranians have lived with cycles of repression, economic mismanagement, corruption, and international sanctions that have all but erased opportunity — and trust.

Every few years, a new spark — fuel prices, a young woman’s murder, economic collapse — ignites protests that reflect the same unresolved grievances. And yet, Iran’s history is also one of public protest and resilience. This is a population that will continue to push for its own rights, dignity, and freedom.

How is today different?

This time, people are questioning not just policies, but the legitimacy of the system itself. This is the accumulation of decades of broken promises, tightening control, and a population that keeps being asked to endure more with less.

The protesters — initially peaceful — first focused on the volatile economy. Inflation was out of control and food prices were 72% higher than the year before. Iranians took to the streets. The country had hardly recovered from its 12-day war with Israel in June 2025. Israeli strikes resulted in significant civilian casualties, injuring 4,746 and killing 610.

Today’s death toll is higher — although we don’t know the exact figures because of information blackouts. One US-based Human Rights Activists News Agency (HRANA), said the death toll had reached 2,571 as of January 13.

What does all this mean for women?

Well, previous uprisings were very much gendered. In September 2022, the Woman Life Freedom movement emerged, ignited by the murder of Masha Amini. Amini was 22, killed by the so-called Morality Police for improperly wearing her hijab, the head covering mandated by cultural and religious interpretation.

During that period, one Iranian woman said:

We just need the world to hear our voice because the dictator government always says women are free in Iran and the Hijab is their choice and is not mandatory but the world should know they are liars, they are monsters who have been oppressing women for 43 years. We can not do anything without men’s permission, we cannot choose what to wear, where to go, and what to do.

Today, women have been disproportionately impacted by the rising costs in Iran. Women’s participation in the formal economy is extremely low — around 13% — despite high levels of education among women. Structural barriers, patriarchal norms, discriminatory hiring practices, and systemic exclusion from many sectors leave many women in unstable situations, relying on family or a spouse for money, and therefore stripping them of their independence and opportunities.

For these reasons, and many more, our feminist sisters in Iran are fighting back. And it’s not the first time.

Meanwhile, who’s meddling?!

Trump’s promises to “send help” will likely materialize in violence. Israel’s encouragement of a revolt against Iranian leadership is not out of any concern for Iran’s people but rather their obsession with Hamas and Hezbollah. Help — via bombs — is not help. Nor is it “liberation.”

None of this can be divorced from the current geopolitical realities (aka nightmares) in which we live: the extraction of Maduro from Venezuela, the genocide in Palestine, and so on. Western strategic interests have been laid bare.

According to Chatham House’s Middle East and North Africa Programme Director Sanam Vakil:

A change in the Islamic Republic would be welcome geopolitically, regionally and internally in Iran. This is a hugely repressive regime and one that has exported massive amounts of instability across the region while also killing and repressing its own citizens. It could stabilize the Iranian economy, stabilize the region away from an ideological, deeply religious regime into something more normal. And if the Iranian economy does open up, it is seen to be one of the last frontier economies. There’s a lot of business to be done, a lot of money to be made, and that is appealing to someone like President Trump. But the hard work lies in the details, changing the system of governance, the regulatory environment. This is not going to be a quick and easy fix.

The Iranian people have made it clear: They want change — not interference.

Iranian-born Yasaman Gheidi had this to say in an Instagram post:

I do not support any form of foreign intervention. Foreign intervention is what put the Shah in power. That interference is what set the stage for the disaster Iran lives under today. Iranians have paid for that interference with generations of blood. I am also against Zionist political agendas that are trying to insert themselves into the current protests in Iran for their own regional interests.

To conclude, Gheidi added:

I believe the future of Iran belongs to Iranians inside Iran. I believe the people of Iran deserve to take back their country themselves. And I believe the most important thing right now is to listen to Iranian voices, not overwrite them.

There has been criticism of the silence of the left on Iran — especially of those who spoke out for Palestine.

Narges Bajoghli, Assistant Professor of Middle East Studies at the Johns Hopkins School of Advanced International Studies, wrote an Instagram post explaining why she declined the invitation to write about Iran for the New York Times — to honor the writers’ boycott due to the Times coverage of Gaza. But she added something equally important:

Activists, organizers, artists, and intellectuals inside Iran are asking us to think carefully about how we narrate these protests to Western audiences — particularly given how the US and Israel have historically weaponized internal Iranian dissent to justify sanctions, pressure, and even threats of war against ordinary Iranians. Solidarity means listening to the people most affected — both Palestinians facing genocide and Iranians navigating their own struggle for justice without becoming fodder for imperial intervention.

Nooshin Sadeghsamimi, Postdoctoral Fellow at Center for Religious Diversity and Public Life at the University of Colorado, said “… it is heartbreaking to see parts of the left support Iranian regime propaganda under the banner of anti-imperialism.”

Another Iranian woman who remained anonymous said: “The answer is simple because the truth exposes the lie. Acknowledging what’s happening in Iran will challenge the ideological fantasy that they (left) have built.”

Meanwhile Iranian women are protesting, and continue to be beaten, abused, imprisoned. Take Nobel Laureate and feminist activist Narges Mohammadi who has been arrested 13 times and been sentenced to more than 36 years imprisonment and 154 lashes. She wrote this for The Times in December:

The truth is, Iran is already in a transition. But transitions can move in many directions. The Iranian people have proved their courage. They have endured prisons, censorship, surveillance, bullets, and the loss of their children, yet they continue to fight. Not violently. Violence, whether imposed from outside or from within, is not the answer. What they ask for is not intervention, but recognition; not foreign armies, but international solidarity; not war, but peace.

To paraphrase British-Iranian peace strategist, author, and Founder and Executive Director of the International Civil Society Action Network Sanam Naraghi-Anderlini in her recent podcast If You Were In Charge with globally-recognized feminist activist Kavita Ramdas:

The resistance we’re seeing is not new. It has been going on for 47 years. And women have been leading this resistance in all sorts of ways because the first people targeted were women. The Islamic Republic co-opted women to come out in support, promising them rights under an Islamic society, but the first thing they did was suspend personal status laws and degrade women into second class citizens. And of course the hijab. And women have been fighting it ever since. And they’ve been winning using feminist tactics… “

In Narges Mohammadi’s closing note, she outlined clear ways for us all to help:

Support Iran’s civil society, independent media, and human rights and women’s rights defenders who are at the forefront of building a just and democratic future for their country. With global solidarity, democracy and peace are not just possible — they are within reach. The people of Iran are ready. Stand with them.

Let’s not sugarcoat: 2025 sorta sucked for women. Not just for women, for the world.

I could list all the craptastic stuff of the year but we’d be here until 2027. Still, we need to learn from what’s going on if we’re ever gonna move forward.

The year started with a blazing inferno in Los Angeles, California. This climate disaster burned through 35,000 hectares in just three days. And who bore the brunt of this blaze? Women and girls, as always.

And then we moved on to the dumpster fire that is Trump 2.0. On 20 January 2025 we woke up not to a brand new world, but to the world of 2017–2021–one where backlashes against women’s rights were more common than yoga pants and frothy lattes. To welcome His Orangeness back to the Oval Office, tens of thousands poured into the streets for the People’s March to defend whatever rights we’ve got left.

One of his first (bad) decisions was to appoint His Muskiness as Chief Destructor of the country’s international aid agency, USAID. An institution with over five decades of humanitarian service, destroyed in months. The result is not only the unemployment of 10,000 staff, not only the collapse of too many organizations linked to USAID, but the actual deaths of too many people as a result of the end of aid. We don’t even know how bad it’s gonna be, but here’s what we know: at least 23 million children will lose access to education, and 95 million people will lose access to basic healthcare, potentially leading to more than 3 million preventable deaths per year. To make it more concrete, this meant the closing of 1,394 family planning clinics around the world linked with Planned Parenthood — 1,175 of these in Africa.

And, predictably, The Orange continued to enjoy the rollback of women’s reproductive rights. This means a further increase in preventable deaths due to the reversal of Roe v. Wade.

This was followed with the abrupt defunding of all projects having anything at all to do with gender and identity and the entire LGBTQIA+ community. Oh, and immigrants of course. Regardless of legal status. His Anti-Illegal Alien campaign resulted in the deportation of more than 2 million people in 12 months.

And then came a list of banned words that happen to comprise the majority of my vocabulary. A is for abortion, B is for biased, C is for community, D is for diversity, E is for equality… and on and on it goes!

So, everyone came under attack. Well, not everyone… Who was safe? Rich white men!

January was also the supposed ceasefire month in Palestine and Lebanon. Before we could even exhale with relief, the ceasefire failed. Why? Israel violated it. And it has spent the rest of 2025 breaking deals and killing people.

February finally rolled around after what felt like a long, dark start to the year. US politics continued to be a global embarrassment. Instead of talking about geopolitics and how to put an end to Russia’s now three-year war on Ukraine, Trump greeted Ukraine’s President Volodymyr Zelenskyy with his characteristic confrontational and antagonistic manner. Zelenskyy left Washington earlier than planned, with heightened tensions between the US and Ukraine.

Meanwhile, major elections were underway in Germany and Ecuador. In Ecuador, voters chose right-wing Daniel Noboa as president, another misogynist in office. Germany’s new Bundestag is also more right-wing, more male-dominated, and less friendly to women.

Then came March, our so-called women’s history month, with International Women’s Day and the rhetoric that accompanies it. Sure, it’s great to celebrate how far we’ve come, but we have NOT come far enough. And we’re moving backwards. And in March, USAID shut its doors.

Trump continued his hate campaign by signing an executive order targeting transgender people, restricting federal recognition, care access, and rewriting identity classification rules, undoing decades of progress.

April signaled a big moment with the Hands Off mass protests, also known “No Kings Day,” with Americans fighting back against domestic policy and rollback of rights. No Kings protests took place all over the country again in October with over seven million people taking part!

The same month marked a very somber anniversary of two years of brutal war in Sudan. It has been dubbed the world’s worst humanitarian crisis, with over 11 million forcibly displaced, and 61,000 people killed. So far.

April closed with a monumental milestone event, the death of Pope Francis, the first Latin American pope, and a true champion of Palestinian rights. Pope Francis championed women’s rights to a limit–within the confines of Church doctrine. Yes, he condemned discrimination and violence, advocated for equal pay and opportunities, and appointed women to key Vatican roles, but this wasn’t enough to undo the Church’s fundamentally patriarchal structure.

In May, the world observed the International Day of Living Together in Peace. Although too much of the world is not in peace. In fact, there were (are!) over 120 armed conflicts underway in 2025–and none show signs of abating. This day of peace took place one day after Nakba Day, the Palestinian Catastrophe, the destruction of Palestinian society and homeland in 1948 by Israel, resulting in the displacement of a majority of the Palestinian people. The proximity of these two dates is painfully ironic.

This was also the month Elon Musk decided to abandon his governmental role after having a petty tiff with Trump, signaling an end to this perplexing bromance. So that’s the good news.

Sure, there’s not a lot of good news. But now that we’re at the midpoint, let’s try to dig some up so we don’t wither from misery.

In June, Zohran Mamdani came to our rescue as the emerging favorite for mayor of NYC. His presence pulled us from despair and offered a glimmer of hope for New York, the US, and quite possibly the entire world. Five months later, he became the first Muslim, South Asian, immigrant mayor of the city.

July was full of reminders that climate disasters are getting worse every year. In Pakistan, over 159 people were killed following heavy monsoon rains. In the US, over 120 people were killed in a historic Texas flash flood event, including children and staff who died at an all-girls summer camp. We’ve talked extensively about why climate disasters are worse for women, but here’s a recap. Climate crises amplify women’s pre-existing inequalities because women have less access to resources while also bearing the brunt of family survival–water, food, fuel. They are often the poorest, and almost always excluded from decisions that affect their lives. And, they’re more likely to die than men during extreme weather events. And that’s just the short version of the story!

July was also the official shutdown month of USAID. Meanwhile, chief shutdown orchestrator Elon Musk became the first person in the world whose net wealth exceeded $500 billion.

In August we learned that Iran had executed 841 people in eight months since the beginning of the year, with ethnic minorities and migrants “disproportionately targeted,” according to the UN. The Woman, Life, Freedom Movement of 2022 continues–quietly. Women won’t stop resisting until their rights are won.

The same month was the fourth year of the Taliban’s return to power in Afghanistan. Since then, they have strengthened their gender apartheid campaign, banning women and girls from education at age 12, severely restricting permissible professions for women, and stopping them from accessing public spaces without a male guardian.

September brought some good news, as Brazil’s President Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva signed a new law strengthening protective measures for women survivors of gender-based violence. This means easier restraining orders, increased penalties for child rape and femicide, and better safety for survivors.

In October, Mexico elected its first-ever woman and Jewish President, Claudia Sheinbaum, known as La Doctora for her extensive academic excellence and achievements. Although it was a win for women in power, feminists cautioned against Sheinbaum’s right-wing policies and reminded the world that not all women represent feminist views. So… mixed. And Japan elected its first woman prime minister, Takaichi Sanae, who says her role model is “Iron Lady” Margaret Thatcher. Hmmm…

But now England’s church is led by a woman for the very first time: Dame Sarah Mullally is Archbishop of Canterbury.

We’re nearly there… last two months of the year.

In November, Brazil hosted COP30 and thousands of people marched through the streets of the event host city of Belem, calling for the voices of Indigenous peoples and environmental defenders to be heard at the UN climate summit. Indigenous activists also took matters into their own hands, storming the summit, disrupting the proceedings as they demanded that Brazilian President da Silva take concrete action to ensure their territories are protected from growing threats.

And although dead for six years, Jeffrey Epstein lives on in our nightmares as we read the crime-filled files page by heinous page, exposing more men than we ever imagined.

Finally, after a whirlwind of a year, we’ve arrived in December. I desperately want to end on a positive note. Dammit.

Firstly, Denmark agreed to compensate thousands of Indigenous Greenlandic women and girls who were forcibly given contraception (IUDs) without their knowledge or consent decades ago, in an attempt to ethnically cleanse the land of its Indigenous people. Overdue, but welcome.

The continuous efforts of the feminist pro-choice movement, My Choice My Voice, led to an historic change as the European Parliament endorsed a plan to improve access to abortion care for women in Europe. This change means EU member states now provide access to the safe termination of pregnancies in accordance with their domestic laws for anyone without access to a safe and legal abortion. Key points include establishing an opt-in fund for solidarity, compensating states offering services, and recognizing abortion access as a public health matter.

A win, and a reminder to never give up. Because–and this should be obvious–our rights are worth the fight!

Yes, we’re going to carry some awful crap with us into 2026… Palestine, Sudan, the Democratic Republic of Congo, Lebanon, and Yemen. To name but a few!

For me personally, 2025 was a bumpy ride. One upside is the launch of my merch-movement, ArabFeminista. Because… revolution looks good on us! So let’s take that revolutionary spirit into 2026 because, dammit, we’ve got lots of work to do. And we deserve a better world!

***

Head to www.Better4Women.com for more fire to light up your new year!

People often ask me where I’ve seen the worst of humanity.

They expect a single place. A single war zone. A single catastrophe so unbearable it eclipses all others.

But the truth is more complicated — and more hopeful — than that.

In every place I was told was “hopeless,” it wasn’t. Not really. Even in countries most people can’t find on a map. Even as armed men marched into cities, even as institutions collapsed, even as violence became routine. There were always people — almost always women — finding ways to stand up, to resist, to rebuild. I left those places not shattered, but humbled. Inspired. Changed.

What I learned over three decades of working on women’s rights across more than 20 countries is this: human resilience is astonishing — but it should not be constantly tested. Survival should not be a prerequisite for dignity. And yet, here we are.

All of this emerged from a recent powerful conversation I had with Jennifer Cassetta on her podcast, The Art of Badassery. It reminded me why I do this work — and why it still matters so deeply.

Becoming a Feminist Before I Had the Language…

People sometimes ask me when I “became” a feminist.

Before I knew the word.

Being born into a female body anywhere in the world comes with conditions. Constraints. Restrictions. They vary across cultures and contexts, but they exist everywhere. I realized this early. I didn’t have the vocabulary for it, but I had the feeling — a sharp sense of injustice and a lot of anger.

By the time I was 14, I was reading, questioning, paying attention. I began to understand that what I was experiencing wasn’t a personal problem — it was structural. It was global. A “we” problem, not a “me” problem. That realization was overwhelming, but it was also galvanizing. I didn’t know what to do yet, but I knew I couldn’t do nothing.

I’m Lebanese and Palestinian. Crisis is baked into my DNA. So is questioning. So is refusing to take things at face value. Those identities taught me early that nothing — safety, rights, belonging — should ever be taken for granted.

The Moment the World Changes for Girls…

For many women, feminism begins not with theory, but with a bodily realization: I am not as safe as I thought I was.Those experiences are painfully ordinary — and too often dismissed or buried. For me, that moment happened when I was seven.

I had completely forgotten it until my thirties, when a friend and I were talking about how she teaches her daughter about bodily autonomy. She asked me, casually, “Do you remember the first time someone touched you and you knew it was wrong?”

And suddenly, the memory came flooding back.

I was sitting in a hairdresser’s chair, getting a haircut — the most ordinary, benign childhood activity. The man cutting my hair pressed himself against my hand repeatedly, deliberately. I tried to move. I froze. I was told to sit still. I said nothing.

I knew it was wrong. I felt violated. And then I buried it.

What stayed with me wasn’t the memory — it was the adaptation. For years afterward, I crossed my arms tightly under the salon cape, creating a protective barrier with my body. I didn’t know why I did it. My body remembered even when my mind didn’t.

This is how girls learn. This is how women survive.

These stories are not rare. The unbearable ordinary, I call it. Almost every woman I know has one — often more than one. And what compounds the harm is what comes next: the second-guessing. Maybe it wasn’t that bad. Maybe I misread it. Maybe I’m overreacting.

That internal erosion is its own form of violence.

Choosing a Life of Resistance…

At 14, I took a class called Comparative Women’s History. It wasn’t a celebration of women’s achievements. It was a brutal accounting of violence against women across time and place. It shattered my illusions — and gave me language.

From that point on, everything I studied went through a feminist lens. Every paper. Every research question. Every volunteer role. I showed up at Planned Parenthood clinics as a teenager, helping protect women accessing healthcare, convinced — naively — that this was a fight we’d surely win quickly.

I truly believed bodily autonomy was common sense.

Little did I know.

As I got older, I watched rights stall, erode, reverse. I watched women decades older than me still holding protest signs, still fighting battles they thought were settled. That grief — and that anger — stays with you.

Eventually, I took my work global. I wanted to focus on violence against women in conflict settings. I volunteered. I took risks. I accepted fellowships. I learned the hard way that no one hands you a career in humanitarian work — you have to step into uncertainty and prove you can stay.

Bangladesh. Morocco. Afghanistan. Haiti. The Central African Republic. Emergency after emergency.

My job description could be summarized as: end sexual violence against women and girls.

An impossible job.

If success were measured by eradication, I failed everywhere. But that’s the wrong metric. Over time, I learned to recalibrate: Was something slightly better because I was there? Did a woman gain an option she didn’t have before?

Hope, I learned, lives in the margins.

Over three decades working on women’s rights across more than 20 countries, I’ve learned that the places and situations we label “hopeless” rarely are. Even in war zones, even amid catastrophe, women are organizing, rebuilding, resisting. I’ve never left a crisis without feeling humbled by human resilience — though I wish resilience weren’t constantly demanded of us just to survive.

What Hope Actually Looks Like…

One of the stories that has never left me happened in Afghanistan.

A woman came into my office desperate. Her husband was dead. She was starving. She needed money — immediately. We offered her a small cash stipend alongside training and basic education. She rejected everything but the money. Literacy, she told me bluntly, was a luxury she couldn’t afford.

Six months later, she returned.

She had started a tiny business making jam. There was food in the house. A cushion. For the first time, she wasn’t thinking day to day — she was thinking week to week.

Then she said, quietly, “I’ve never written my own name. I think I want to learn.”

I watched her trace the letters of her name on a whiteboard, surrounded by applause. I cried in the corner. That moment — that ownership — is what hope looks like. It doesn’t photograph well. It doesn’t fit neatly into donor reports. But it’s everything.

Feminist Firestarting…

This is why I wrote Feminist Firestarter — my next book, coming out in 2026 — because the backlash against women’s rights is real, global, and overwhelming.

The book is organized around the five phases of emergency response: prevent, prepare, respond, recover, rebuild. Because that’s how life works — at home and globally.

The first step is always awareness. Listening. Learning. Once you see injustice, you can’t unsee it. From there, action doesn’t have to be grand. In fact, it shouldn’t be.

Start where you stand.

I saw those words spray-painted on a wall in Nepal after the earthquake. They became a personal manifesto. That’s because change happens locally. In our homes. Our workplaces. Our communities. In the small spaces where we have influence. Use the skills you have. Change the space you occupy.

Because feminism doesn’t get days off. It’s not a label — it’s a practice. It’s not an identity reserved for the loudest or most radical among us. A feminist is anyone who cares about equality and understands that the freedoms many of us enjoy were fought for — and can be taken away.

I’m not free until we’re all free.

And if there’s one thing I know for sure, it’s this: when women have safety, agency, and economic power, the world is better. Not perfect — but seriously better. And that’s worth fighting for, every single day.

That means amplifying voices. Donating time or skills. Setting boundaries. Raising children who understand consent and respect. Our greatest enemy is actually not opposition — it’s apathy. The belief that nothing we do matters. And the antidote isn’t grand gestures. It’s action. However small, usually microscopic.

Everything we do, every choice we make, matters.

And every fire starts small.

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For more fire, head to www.Better4Women.com and sign up for your free Firestarter!

And get to know Jenn Cassetta — speaker, author, self-defense expert, coach, host of The Art of Badassery podcast, and author of the book The Art of Badassery: Unleash Your Mojo with Wisdom of the Dojo, using martial arts belts to guide us to feel strong, safe, and powerful!

Every year on November 25th, the world observes the International Day for the Elimination of Violence Against Women. This day kicks off the 16 Days of Activism Against Gender-Based Violence, which runs until Human Rights Day on December 10th.

This period serves as a global moment of reckoning, demanding that we confront one of the most widespread and damaging violations of human rights: violence against women and girls. Do we have to have this day every year? Yes. Over and over, day after decade. Until we end this.

No, this is not a distant issue. No, this is not something that affects “other women” in places “over there.” It is right here where we are, every single day in every single space. It is a human crisis that touches our neighborhoods, our schools, our workplaces, and our homes. Trust me. I’ve been working on violence against women for three decades all around the world.

Are we aware? Perhaps. But is that enough? Absolutely not. We need to take action.

Why We Should Care

[I can’t believe I actually have to write that as a heading!?]

If you don’t already know… the reality of violence against women is staggering, overwhelming. It’s a crisis of inequality and abuse that is truly global — and too often invisible.

This is a fact: one in three women and girls worldwide — hundreds of millions of people — have experienced physical or sexual violence in their lifetime. Maybe you’re one of the one in three. I know I am.

For many, the person who harms them is someone they know and trust: an intimate partner. Less than half of women who experience violence ever tell anyone or seek help, often due to fear, shame, lack of services and support, or a lack of trust in institutions. There are so many disconnects, it’s hard to know where to start.

This isn’t about isolated incidents of rage. It’s about a deep, systemic power imbalance. When we talk about violence against women, we are talking about everything from physical assault and rape to emotional manipulation, economic control, and online harassment. It’s an umbrella term for any action that causes harm because of the victim’s gender.

Where Does This Violence Come From?

If this is happening everywhere, the question is why. The simple answer is that violence against women is rooted in gender inequality. It is a tool used to maintain control and uphold harmful, outdated beliefs about gender roles. It is about power — and abuse of that power.

When societies believe men should be dominant and aggressive, and women should be submissive and dependent, violence becomes an easy way to enforce those expectations. It’s built on a culture that often dismisses abuse, laughs at sexist jokes, and questions the victim instead of the perpetrator. This culture of disbelief and minimization is the fertile ground in which violence grows. The violence escalates dramatically during times of crisis, like wars or natural disasters, but it remains a daily, silent crisis in times of peace.

The Many Forms of Abuse

To truly address this, we need to recognize all the ways violence shows up:

• Physical and Sexual Violence: This includes everything from hitting and slapping to sexual assault and rape. The fundamental issue here is the absence of clear, enthusiastic consent. Because if it’s not a “hell, yes!” then it’s a “no!”
• Emotional and Psychological Abuse: This is often invisible but deeply damaging. It includes constant insults, isolation from friends and family, extreme jealousy, stalking, and threats designed to undermine the victim’s self-worth and sanity.
• Financial Control: Withholding access to money, forbidding employment, or controlling a partner’s earnings — this creates dependence, making it incredibly difficult for a person to leave an abusive relationship.
• Online Harassment: The digital world is not safe. Abuse here includes cyberbullying, the non-consensual sharing of intimate photos, and online threats that follow a person everywhere.

In fact, the global theme for the 2025 campaign is “UNiTE to End Digital Violence Against All Women and Girls.” By focusing on digital abuse — such as cyberstalking, harassment, and deepfakes — the campaign highlights how technology is increasingly weaponized to silence, shame, and control women, demanding a call to action from governments, tech companies, and individuals to create a future free from fear in all spaces, both online and off.

Solutions Start with Every Single One of Us

Ending this violence feels like an overwhelming task, but the solution isn’t some grand, abstract policy change. It’s a collection of concrete, daily actions taken by ordinary people. You do not need to be an activist or a politician to make a difference — you just need to be a responsible human being who cares enough to stand up and say ENOUGH.

It starts by fostering a culture of respect and support. Here are a list of micro-actions we can all take in our lives to make this happen:

1. Listen and Believe Survivors

The single most important action is how you respond when someone confides in you. When a friend, colleague, or family member shares their experience of abuse, your first and only job is to believe them.

• What to say: “I hear you. I believe you. I support you. How can I best help you right now?”
• What not to say: “Why didn’t you leave sooner?” or “Are you sure it was that bad?”

By believing them, you validate their reality and remove the burden of proof, which can be immensely healing.

2. Speak Up Against Harmful Talk

Violence often starts with language. Everyday misogyny — sexist jokes, derogatory comments about women, or dismissing assault — creates an environment where actual violence is acceptable. If you hear someone making a sexist joke or a misogynistic statement, challenge it gently but firmly.

• What to say: “I don’t find that funny,” or “That comment is actually pretty hurtful. Let’s not talk about people that way.” This small correction sends a clear signal that this kind of talk is unacceptable in your presence.

3. Practice and Teach Consent

Consent is the foundation of respectful human interaction. It’s not just about sex; it’s about respecting a person’s physical and emotional boundaries in all areas of life. Consent must be clear, enthusiastic, and freely given, and it can be withdrawn at any time.

• What to say if you’re a young person: If a friend is being pressured or looks uncomfortable with someone touching them or sharing their things, you can say, “Hey, stop. [Friend’s name] has the right to decide what happens to their body and their stuff. If they say ‘no,’ that’s the final answer.”
• What to say if you’re a parent or guardian: Talk to the young people in your life about boundaries, autonomy, and respecting the word “no” in age-appropriate ways.

4. Safely Step In as a Bystander

If you see someone being harassed or abused in public — on the street, on a bus, or at a social gathering — do not assume someone else will intervene. You can take action safely. The “distract and delegate” method is effective:

• Distract: Create a diversion, like asking the victim for directions or pretending to know them (“Sarah! I’ve been looking for you!”).
• Delegate: Find someone in authority, like a bartender, security guard, or manager, and clearly tell them what you observed.
• Document/Delay: If it is safe to do so, document the incident from a safe distance, or check in with the person who was harassed after the incident is over.

We can all normalize the act of safety check-ins with the people we care about. I wish we did not live in a world where these things are needed, but until we end this violence forever, it’s probably wise to look out for each other. It’s the simple stuff like “text me when you get home” that makes all the difference.

5. Champion Women’s Economic Independence

Financial dependence is one of the biggest reasons women feel trapped in abusive relationships. By supporting a woman’s ability to earn and control her own money, you directly reduce her vulnerability to abuse.

• Action in the workplace: Advocate for fair pay, mentorship for female colleagues, and family-friendly policies. I’ve got a whole ebook on this.
• Action in the community: Actively support businesses owned by women.

6. Support Frontline Services

Local women’s shelters, helplines, and crisis centers are lifelines, but they are consistently underfunded. They provide safe housing, counseling, and legal support that saves lives every day.

• Action: Commit to a small, recurring donation to a local organization that fights violence. Your money directly supports essential services for survivors in your community.

7. Build a Culture of Accountability Everywhere

Creating safe spaces means actively weeding out sexism and abuse in your daily environment, especially in digital spaces and among peers.

• Action online: Do not engage with online trolls who are harassing or threatening women. Engaging only gives them power. Instead, use the platform’s tools to immediately mute, block, and report the user or content.
• Action among peers: If someone posts sexist memes or inappropriate comments in a private group chat, don’t ignore it. Send a clear, private message to the sender, or state in the group, “That content isn’t acceptable here. Please remove it.”
• Action at home: Make sure household chores are assigned based on capability and need, not on gender. This simple action disrupts the expectation that women and girls are solely responsible for domestic labor, which is a root of inequality.

The future free from violence is not a dream. And it is not impossible. It is a (micro-)action plan that requires sustained, daily commitment from all of us to finally get it done. Let’s do this!

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For more micro-actions and inspiration to light our fires, head to www.Better4Women.com and click on Join the Movement!