Not All Men? Not All Literate Either, Apparently

When you dismantle power, it always screams.

DISCLAIMER: If you haven’t read this article in full (every word, with your entire brain switched on) don’t bother commenting. I don’t respond to cherry-pickers, skim-readers, or people who treat a headline like a personal attack and then skip the actual point. If you misquote me, twist my words, or expose yourself as someone who skimmed three lines and decided you knew what I meant—you will be ignored. I do not debate with people who can’t be arsed to read before reacting. That’s not discourse. That’s noise.

(And no, “I skimmed it but still felt attacked” is not a valid form of literacy. That’s emotional diarrhoea.)

Sometimes I wonder if I’m too good at making men nervous. Not by flirting. Not by teasing. Not by existing in lingerie under lamplight. No — by saying things out loud that weren’t meant to be said at all. By dragging things from the underworld of systemic oppression and laying them bare like bones on a butcher’s table. By pointing at the rotting patriarchal fruit and asking, out loud, “Why are we still pretending it’s fresh?”

I don’t hate men. I hate the rusted machinery of dominance that was built for them, by them, and around all of us. I hate that I can’t write a sentence about my lived reality without being told I deserve to die. I hate that men who have never read my work in full think they’re entitled to correct it. I hate that structural critique gets treated like a personal insult, while personal insults are somehow treated like debate. (Spoiler: threatening women in private DMs is not a counter-argument. It’s digital cowardice in a hoodie.)

And to the men who do get it — I see you. The ones who read first and comment later. The ones who don’t need a disclaimer to understand nuance. This isn’t about you. It never was. But if you feel the need to bark “not all men” before I've even finished the sentence, I’d ask you this: If the shoe doesn’t fit… why are you lacing it up like your masculinity depends on it?

NOTE: And to the brave little soldiers sending messages telling me to die: I’ve kept the receipts. Every vile DM. Every coward hiding behind a pixelated profile. You’re on borrowed grace. One day, if this continues, I will publish them — names, screenshots, everything. Not for vengeance. But for proof. So that other women know who to avoid. Because digital violence is still violence, and I will not be your silent target.

What Feminism Means to Me (And Why You’re Getting It So Bloody Wrong)

“Feminism is the radical notion that women are people.”
(Except now it’s more than that. It has to be.)

Feminism isn’t about hating men. It’s about hating a system that makes it harder to live freely if you’re not the default setting: cis, male, white, straight, able-bodied, neurotypical, rich. If that bothers you: congratulations, you’ve just met the problem.

At the core of everything I write, shout, question and rage about… is radical feminism. Not “radical” as in extreme. Not “radical” as in angry lesbians burning bras on rooftops while screaming about witchcraft. Radical as in root. Because you don’t fix a rotting system by slapping a pastel logo on it and calling it empowerment. You rip the decay out by its teeth. You name the disease. That’s what radical feminism does. It traces our pain to its blueprint — not just its symptoms. It’s not a girlboss TED Talk. It’s structural analysis with a blade. You pull it out by the root and say: this is where it started, and this is where it ends.

And yes, I’m a racial feminist. Because white feminism that centres itself, that gatekeeps the narrative, that weaponises tears while ignoring police brutality and forced sterilisation? That isn’t feminism. That’s empire in a sundress. That’s white supremacy playing dress-up. My feminism isn’t interested in branding. It’s interested in justice. In equity. In asking—constantly, urgently, obsessively:

“Whose freedom are we fighting for? And who’s being left behind?”

Intersectionality is not a buzzword. It’s the minimum. I fight for the refugee woman raising her kids in a detention centre. For the autistic girl misdiagnosed her entire life. For the sex worker whose safety is criminalised. For the gay man taught that softness is shame. For every single person this system decided was “too much” to deserve protection. If your feminism doesn’t include them, it’s not feminism. It’s a club for the palatable.

And while we’re here, let’s talk about men. Yes, men suffer under patriarchy. They suffer from its rigidity, its emotional illiteracy, its violent expectations. It teaches them that power is domination, that tears are disgraceful, that love is possession. And then it punishes them for being distant, broken, or numb. That’s not strength. That’s entrapment. But here’s the thing:

Patriarchy hurts everyone, but it does not hurt everyone equally.

So when men flood feminist spaces screaming “what about us?” without reading what the “us” even refers to, it’s not justice. It’s derailment. It’s entitlement in a fresh wig. My feminism isn’t here to coddle you. It’s here to name the systems that break all of us—and break women, queer people, and the marginalised first and hardest.

This is not about role reversal. It’s not about punishing men. It’s about balance. Liberation. Accountability. It’s about refusing to keep playing by rules that were never written for our survival. And if that upsets you? Ask yourself why. Ask yourself what power you’re so afraid of losing.

Because here’s what patriarchy looks like:

• A woman tweets about boundaries and gets death threats.

• A priest abuses children and gets reassigned.

• A woman needs an abortion and bleeds out in a hospital hallway because doctors were scared of breaking the law.

• A female victim posts her story and it’s called attention-seeking.

• A male politician cheats on his wife and gets a redemption arc.

• A man can beat his wife and still be called a family man.

• A woman divorces her abuser and is called selfish for breaking up the home.

• A man shoots up a school and gets a mental health documentary.

• A woman defends herself from a violent man and gets 30 years in prison.

• A male CEO harasses his staff and gets a quiet severance payout.

• A man has ten children with five women and is applauded for "spreading his seed."

• A woman has two kids with two partners and is called damaged goods.

• A male rapper brags about strangling women in lyrics and it's just "edgy art."

• A woman sings about self-love and gets accused of ruining society.

• A man takes maternity leave and is called a “dedicated father.”

• A woman does the same and is seen as a burden on the company.

• A man cries and it’s a revolutionary act of vulnerability.

• A woman cries and it’s hysteria.

• A man commits femicide and it’s labelled a "crime of passion."

• A woman survives rape and it’s her reputation that’s on trial.

• A man abuses power and the world asks what made him this way.

• A woman dares to speak truth and the world asks how fast they can shut her up.

Call it feminism. Call it reckoning. Call it what you want. But understand this:

I’m not fighting for power. I’m fighting for oxygen.

And I’m not backing down.

Why Men Attack Feminism (But Never Seem to Read It)

Let’s get one thing out of the way: we know it’s not all men. (Again, I have to say this because some of you will forget. As per.) We’ve been saying that. We’ve been living that. We’ve dated them. Worked with them. Trusted them. Some of us were raised by them. So every time you screech “Not all men!” like it’s an intellectual gotcha, just know—it’s not a clarification, it’s a derailment. It’s not clever. It’s not new. It’s giving wet tissue with a podcast.

Derailment: when someone diverts a conversation away from the original issue to centre their own discomfort.
(It's not a contribution. It's a deflection.)

Most men don’t read feminism. They react to it. Loudly. Badly. Often in my DMs at 2AM, calling me a whore because I dared to say women are people. They skim one sentence and suddenly think I’m demanding their left testicle in exchange for equality. (I’m not. Keep it. Or donate it. I’m busy.) They don’t engage with arguments—they engage with their own wounded egos. If your first instinct is to hear “patriarchy hurts everyone” and scream “BUT I SUFFER TOO,” congrats—you’ve just made feminism about you. Which is literally the problem.

They hear “patriarchy” and think “personal attack.” As if I hand-stitched the entire system myself and built it just to ruin Dave from Reddit’s morning. Babe, I’m not talking about you. Unless… you think I am? (Hmm.) Feminism critiques power structures, not individuals—unless those individuals benefit from those structures and spend their free time defending them like they’re in the Boy Scouts for Fragile Masculinity.

And let’s be honest, a lot of men don’t want a debate. They want to win. They want to talk over, not talk with. They say they value logic, but melt into a rage spiral the second a woman is confident, articulate, and correct. Because it’s never been about reason. It’s about control. You challenge their default status, and suddenly it’s DEFCON 1 in the comments. “You sound angry.” I am. You should be too.

Feminism doesn’t erase men. It just refuses to orbit them. And for some of you, that feels like violence. But if the worst thing feminism ever does to you is hurt your feelings—you’re not oppressed. You’re just used to being the protagonist.

How Patriarchy Fucks Everyone (But Unequally)

Let’s get something straight: yes, men suffer under patriarchy. They’re told that vulnerability is weakness. That domination is masculinity. That success is control, and softness is shame. They’re handed a rulebook of how to feel (or more accurately, how not to) and punished the moment they stray from it. They are emotionally starved, compassion-crippled, and violently praised for it.

But (and it’s a massive but) this is not the same thing as being systemically oppressed.

“Patriarchy doesn’t love men. It just uses them better.”
— your local feminist killjoy

The difference is structural. Men might be hurt by the system, but they are not crushed by it in the same way women, queer people, trans folks, and disabled communities are. Men are mocked when they cry. Women are sectioned. Men are teased for their breakdowns. Women are punished for theirs. Men are told to “man up.” Women are told they’re unfit, unstable, hysterical, dramatic, and stripped of autonomy because of it.

Weaponised pain is still a weapon.

And this isn’t a “who has it worse” Olympics—it’s about scale, frequency, and institutional power.

Let’s make this crystal clear:

• Men face ridicule.
  Women face legal control of their bodies, choices, and existence.

• Men face pressure.
  Trans people face erasure, criminalisation, and violence.

• Men face stigma.
  Disabled people face poverty, forced sterilisation, and institutional abuse.

• Men face emotional suppression.
  Queer people face family rejection, housing insecurity, and state violence.

• Men are told not to feel.
  Women are told they’re too emotional to lead, decide, or be trusted.

So yes, patriarchy hurts men. That part is real. But the depth, frequency, and consequences of that pain are not equal—and pretending otherwise is gaslighty at best, violently dismissive at worst.

And yet… the second feminism gains an inch, here comes the “what about men?” brigade, flooding the replies like a gendered fire drill. Sirens blazing. Rage dialled to 100. Desperate to turn a woman’s trauma into their own open mic night.

So yes, patriarchy fucks us all.

But don’t pretend it fucks us the same.

Patriarchy: The System That Hurts Everyone (But Women First)

Let’s call it what it is: a rigged game. Patriarchy is not just a feeling, it’s not just “men being mean,” and it’s not a feminist buzzword thrown around for fun. It’s a system. One that bleeds into every institution—from healthcare to media, from politics to your living room—and its effects are not abstract. They’re daily, documented, and deadly.

How It Harms Women:

• Pain dismissal: Women are 50% more likely to be misdiagnosed after a heart attack.

• Violence: 1 in 3 women globally experience physical or sexual abuse.

• Legal failures: In the UK, less than 1.6% of reported rapes end in a charge.

• Maternal mortality: Black women are 4–5x more likely to die in childbirth in the US and UK.

• Economic inequality: Women do 75% of the world’s unpaid care work.

• Victim-blaming: Survivors of assault are still asked what they were wearing.

• Reproductive control: Women in Poland have died because abortion was denied—even when medically necessary.

• Purity culture: Virginity is still a metric of worth in many cultures and religions.

• Online abuse: 73% of women journalists have faced online threats or harassment.

• Mental health stigma: Women are overdiagnosed with personality disorders for showing trauma responses.

• Femicide: A woman is killed every 11 minutes by an intimate partner.

• Media mockery: Ambitious women in politics are called cold, unlikeable, or man-hating.

How Patriarchy Harms Men:

• Emotional repression: Taught to bottle it up, then punished for being distant.

• Suicide crisis: Men make up 75% of suicide deaths in many countries.

• Fear of intimacy: Many rely on romantic partners as their only source of emotional connection.

• Masculinity prison: Wanting to dance, sew, parent, or cry = “not man enough.”

• Aggression as currency: Taught that dominance = power, empathy = weakness.

• Homophobia: Straight men fear expressing softness lest they be called “gay.”

• Fatherhood stigma: Men fighting for custody are seen as “less parental.”

• Body image: Eating disorders and gym obsession rise due to “alpha” pressures.

• Help-shaming: Seeking therapy still stigmatised in many male groups.

• Peer policing: Male bonding often reinforces toxic rules ("Don’t be a pussy").

How Patriarchy Harms Marginalised Groups (Hardest):

• Trans people: Globally face skyrocketing hate crimes and medical discrimination.

• Black women: Face the dual weight of misogynoir in healthcare, work, and justice.

• Disabled women: Are twice as likely to experience sexual assault.

• Queer youth: 4 in 10 LGBTQ+ teens seriously consider suicide.

• Neurodivergent people: Routinely dismissed as “dramatic” or “difficult.”

• Migrant women: Vilified in the media, vulnerable to trafficking and abuse.

• Muslim women: Targets of both gendered Islamophobia and state surveillance.

• Indigenous women: Murdered and disappeared at horrifying rates (often ignored).

• Sex workers: Lack labour protections and are criminalised for their own safety.

• Fat women: Face violent medical bias, ridicule, and constant unsolicited advice.

The Psychological Roots of Oppression

(Or: how patriarchy moved into your brain rent-free before you even knew your own name)

Patriarchy doesn’t just sit on a throne in government buildings or Vatican halls—it burrows into your bloodstream. Into your home. Into your head. Oppression doesn’t always arrive dressed in riot gear. Sometimes it wears pastel. Sometimes it sounds like, “Are you sure you want to say that?” Sometimes it’s the voice inside your own skull.

• From birth, we are fed a curriculum of inequality. Women are trained to shrink. Smile smaller. Take up less room. Speak softer. (Say sorry for existing.)

• Men are taught to lead. Interrupt. Assert. Own the room. (Even if they’ve got nothing to say.)

This is not nature. This is design. A blueprint written in silent assumptions and dinner table conversations.

And it doesn’t just show up in headlines. It shows up in:

• The girl who stops raising her hand in class because she’s tired of being labelled bossy.

• The woman who rehearses “Can I say something?” in her head six times before interrupting a man who’s been talking uninterrupted for 18 minutes.

• The daughter praised for being quiet. The son praised for being loud.

• The mother who is expected to sacrifice. The father who is expected to lead.

• The teacher who calls little boys “leaders” and little girls “sweet.”

• The boss who gives feedback to men and doubts to women.

• The films where women cry and die, and men avenge them as plot points.

This is structural psychology. Not just what’s done to us—but what we start doing to ourselves. Because repetition is how patriarchy survives. And feminism? Feminism is the interruption.

“You can’t dismantle the master’s house with the master’s tools.”
– Audre Lorde

So we stop being polite. We stop using “his” language to describe our pain. We stop asking, “Is this too much?” and start asking, “Why were we ever told it was?”

Because the revolution isn’t just external. It starts with unlearning the parts of yourself that were never truly yours.

Stop Weaponising the Exception

Every time feminism calls out a pattern, a man somewhere crawls out of the digital swamp with, “Well, I’m not like that.” Okay. And? You don’t get a medal for not being a predator. If your first instinct is to distance yourself instead of dismantling what’s being criticised—congrats, you’ve made it about you. Again. (Honestly, if the cape fits, wear it. Just don’t expect applause for not being the villain.)

Good men don’t just quietly exist. They intervene. They call it out in the group chat. They check their friends. They stop making women's safety our job. Silence is not respect—it’s complicity in a better outfit. And if feminism makes you uncomfortable, ask yourself why. Equality only feels like oppression when you’re used to privilege.

I’m not here to water myself down to be digestible. I’m not here to whisper about injustice in case it bruises your ego. Feminism isn’t a vibes-based PR campaign. It’s a confrontation. A disruption. A refusal. If you want comfort, look elsewhere. If you want change; start with your mirror.

A World Without Patriarchy? Let Me Dream For a Second

Let’s get one thing straight: a world without patriarchy is not a role reversal dystopia. It’s not The Handmaid’s Tale with reversed gender roles and a vengeance playlist. It’s not domination flipped. It’s domination gone. It’s relief. It’s a life where everyone gets to be whole.

A little boy doesn’t flinch when he cries. He’s held like he’s safe, not scolded like he’s weak. He grows into a man who tells his friends he loves them—and means it. A father gets to know his children, not just provide for them. He’s in the room. At the dinner table. At the heart of it all. And no one calls him babysitter for doing the bare minimum. He’s allowed to care. Allowed to stay. Not just build the house—but live in it.

“The world won’t fall apart if a man is soft. It already falls apart when he’s not.”

A girl speaks and no one talks over her. No one tells her to smile. No one calls her bossy for leading. She’s not taught that her safety is her responsibility, or that rape is a dress code issue. She doesn’t learn how to cross the street with keys in her fist—because there’s nothing to fear. She grows up free, not careful. She becomes a woman who walks home under moonlight like it’s not a war zone.

And we all get to be more than roles we inherited from broken blueprints.

• No woman apologises for taking up space.

• No man loses custody because “nurturing” isn’t in his gender job description.

• No nonbinary teen is told they’re a phase.

• No girl bleeds through her uniform in silence.

• No boy is taught that softness makes him disposable.

• No one gets called a slur for loving who they love.

• No one has to be “palatable” just to stay safe.

“It’s not about flipping power. It’s about ending the performance.”

Because in this world, love isn’t a weapon. Gender isn’t a prison. Power isn’t stolen, hoarded, or feared. It flows. It frees. It heals.

I’ve been called too much, too angry, too radical. I’ve been told to die in private messages for believing women deserve peace. I’ve taken it. I’ve stayed silent. I’ve let them call it “debate.”

But I am not your punchline. I am not your inbox target. I will not keep shrinking while you stay hidden. You send threats in the dark? I will throw them into the light.

You don’t get to be violent and anonymous.

This is where it stops.

The patriarchy survives on secrecy.

I don’t.