Even after Janay Rice’s story stops making headlines, this is a discussion we can’t stop having. In a world where people blame the victim first, we have to continue reiterating that the question of why they stay doesn’t matter. “How do we keep them safe?” does.
I know all too well the shame and sense of shared understanding that Janay Rice has spoken of in recent days. It is why I stayed in an abusive marriage for two years, and why I am speaking up ten years later.
Obama’s failure to take executive action on immigration reform by the end of the summer is just the latest in a string of his broken promises on this issue.
Among other things, the policy misunderstands how deeply manipulative, destructive, coercive, and dangerous abusers can be.
An outgrowth of the latest abuse hurled at critic Anita Sarkeesian and developer Zoë Quinn, GamerGate was apparently a deliberate effort to purge women and people of color from the fledgling world of independent gaming criticism through harassment and accusations of fraudulence.
It’s wildly inappropriate to ask anyone but Wendy Davis herself how she feels about making two private medical decisions with the counsel of her doctors and family.
The “swarm” of police at a Dallas high school over a miscarriage in the bathroom shows exactly where anti-choice hysteria leads us: to treating every failed pregnancy like it’s cause for suspicion.
The real crime scene in this scenario isn’t a high school bathroom stall; it’s Texas’ rigid and discriminatory reproductive health-care system.
Stated simply, most Americans have an irrational belief that Black men are dangerous, and this bias is especially prevalent among white Americans, including most white liberals and progressives.
Many people assume that the term “violence” only refers to physically painful encounters. But I want to explore what multiple forms of violence—physical, emotional, bureaucratic, and spiritual—do to a group of people when they simultaneously converge on a community.