The Office of the Surgeon General has been vacant for almost a year, and if the NRA gets its way, it will stay vacant.
A recent Washington Post article put fault for abuse squarely on the shoulders of “women in unhealthy, unsafe relationships [who] often lack the power to demand marriage,” as if the only thing standing between a belt and a bruised baby is a woman who didn’t ask for a ring hard enough.
George Will is right. Throughout my life, my status as “survivor” has afforded me any number of privileges. For instance, the surgery that I needed a couple of years ago to fix the long-term consequences of the assault on my body was truly a privilege—it gave me the status of being temporarily unemployable.
Obvious Child‘s treatment of abortion as an important moment in both the development of the main character and her romantic relationship is just one of the beautiful ways the film—a raunchy joke-fest with an undeniably humanistic heart—deals with women’s choices and power.
Since Wednesday morning, when RH Reality Check reported on a condom company that had its account barred from advertising on Twitter, three other companies have come forward to allege that Twitter censored their ads about condoms or sexual health information.
In her recent—at moments, hilarious—article about the race to make millions by “appifying” the laundry business, Jessica Pressler repeats some surprising and infuriating tropes about the service economy that are, frankly, retrograde for women.
Twitter’s confusing ad policies stifle the promotion of basic, vitally important health products such as condoms.
While Twitter doesn’t technically prohibit condom ads, it does prohibit advertising for unspecified forms of “contraceptives,” which could keep groups from spreading information about sexual health.
In the days since I heard about Elliot Rodger’s violent spree, I’ve thought a lot about the meme “not all men”—how telling ourselves that is a requirement for continuing to exist and work in a world that increasingly requires our interactions be public, observable.
Dr. Maya Angelou’s life could not be contained by a single autobiography, so she wrote six, making the audacious claim that she—as a Black woman reared in the segregated South—was fully human and a worthy historical subject who needed no outside narrator to tell or validate her story.