More Than A Magazine, A Movement
We’ve made it to July—another eighth of the Trump administration’s days behind us, halfway through a hell of a long year, and the eve of a long weekend to commemorate the 250th anniversary of the Declaration of Independence.
President Donald Trump’s apparent glee that women were absent from his recent White House UFC Fight was just the shot of inspiration I needed to collect and curate some of the best feminist takes on democracy to carry us through the national holiday.
In 1965, the National Farm Workers Association announced their decision to join the striking Agricultural Workers Organizing Committee on Sept. 16—Mexican Independence Day. The choice of date reflected the hybrid identity of Chicanos: straddling Mexican and American cultures, Spanish and English, rooted in the old country but with branches fully extended into the new one.
This was the identity Huerta embodied.
Huerta maintained a heavy bilingual speaking schedule to keep up morale. In addition to the typical challenges of organizing, the farmworkers were standing up against bigotry and asserting their American identity—attaching their cause to the Civil Rights Movement.
“Abajo con racism! Down with racism!” Huerta sometimes ended her speeches. “Viva la union! Viva la causa!”
The people in power, the ones who owned the companies that sold the food or wrote laws in the statehouse, had been able to ignore people like the farmworkers—the people who toiled out of sight to keep the system going.
Now, a crowd of people had walked across the state to watch Huerta declare: “We are here and we embody our needs for you.”
(Excerpted from the book ALL WE SAY: The Battle for American Identity: A History in 15 Speeches by Ben Rhodes.)
Free Black women and Indigenous women are the foremothers of generations of African Americans. Yet they remain largely absent from the official story of American freedom. Their lives, contributions and descendants have been systematically erased—from colonial records and legal classifications to public memory itself.
That erasure began in the earliest colonial records. The 1620 Virginia census recorded “four Indians in the service of several planters,” alongside 15 Negro men and 17 Negro women, reducing people to categories that obscured their identities, families and histories. Over the centuries, laws, court decisions and public institutions repeatedly reinforced that disappearance.
The best celebration of 250 years of American freedom—after the fireworks and celebrations by a newly blue-painted Lincoln Memorial Reflecting Pool are over—could be a visit to a cool, air-conditioned archive. In the quiet, anyone can search the records for the full story, of the enslaved and freeborn, Indian and African. Anyone can defy censorship and erasure with an open mind and a pencil, no fees required.
For much of my life, I thought belonging was something you found: a place, a community, a passport, a home. Now I believe belonging may be something we build together. That realization took me 30 years—and not because I lacked an identity. I arrived in the United States carrying one.
The challenge was never that I did not know who I was—it was whether all of who I was could belong, all at the same time, in the same place: the daughter of a proud Nigerian father, an immigrant, an engineer, an advocate, a woman comfortable in rooms of power, and a woman excluded from systems governing her own life.
In a year commemorating the 250th anniversary of the United States, the Obama Presidential Center opened to the public on Juneteenth. Juneteenth commemorates the moment freedom reached people who had already been declared free. It is a reminder that recognition and reality do not always arrive together. Perhaps that is true of nations as well as people: that legal status and lived experience are not always the same thing. There can be a painful distance between inclusion on paper and belonging in practice.
Who is “we”? For nearly 250 years, the U.S. has been trying to write that answer since the beginning.
The question now is whether we are brave enough to build a version of “we” large enough for people to bring all of who they are into the future we share.
Donald Trump’s jingoistic whitewashing of the 250th anniversary of the founding of our country will no doubt celebrate the 1773 Boston Tea Party, where the Sons of Liberty protested oppressive British import taxes. But throughout American history, women activists—the Daughters of Liberty to suffragists, journalists and civil rights advocates—have been making patriarchal governments tremble, by taking full advantage of the precious rights protected by the First Amendment: freedom of speech, freedom of the press, the right to peaceably assemble, and the right to petition the government for redress of grievances.
That same spirit must now drive the final push to secure the Equal Rights Amendment. Although the ERA has been ratified by the required 38 states, it has yet to be officially recognized as part of the Constitution.
The First Amendment gives us the tools to change that: by speaking out, organizing, protesting and demanding that elected leaders make constitutional equality a national priority.
The U.S. remains one of the only wealthy nations without a national paid leave program.
That failure has profound consequences for women’s economic security, caregiving responsibilities and ability to participate fully in public life: Every day, workers are forced to choose between caring for a new baby, recovering from illness or supporting a loved one and keeping a paycheck. Those impossible choices fall disproportionately on women, reinforcing gender inequities at work, at home and in civic life.
Paid leave is not simply a workplace benefit; it is a cornerstone of a more equitable democracy. When women are pushed out of the workforce, lose income or shoulder the overwhelming burden of unpaid care, they have less time, fewer resources and fewer opportunities to participate in their communities and shape public life.
Change is possible. States across the country have already demonstrated paid family and medical leave works, and overwhelming majorities of voters support it. If we are serious about creating a more inclusive future, guaranteeing paid leave for all workers must be part of the agenda. Women cannot be equal citizens without it.
(This is part of a new miniseries FEMINIST 250: Democracy’s Feminist Future, a special Ms. series examining the next chapter of American democracy through a feminist lens. As the nation approaches its 250th anniversary, the series explores how women and marginalized communities have shaped democratic progress, what lessons history offers for the challenges ahead, and how a more inclusive, representative and equitable democracy can be built for the next 250 years.)
As the U.S. prepares to mark its 250th birthday on July 4, 2026, questions loom over the celebration: Whose America gets remembered, whose gets erased—and how do we imagine and build a democracy that includes all of us?
In the Summer issue of Ms., we revisit the nation’s founding through a feminist lens, reclaiming the stories too often left out of the official narrative: women who challenged the authors of the Declaration of Independence and later the U.S. Constitution for deliberately writing women out of America’s founding documents, Black women who resisted oppression from the start, Indigenous societies built around women-led governance, queer lives in revolutionary America, Asian women’s struggles for belonging and the long fight to make disability visible in our history.
We also look back at 54 years of feminist reporting from the pages of Ms.—proof that the battles for bodily autonomy, equality and democracy did not begin yesterday—and forward to the bold new ideas that could shape a freer, fairer future for the next 250 years.
Get a year of Ms. for just $20 (a 43 percent discount off our usual price) when you join today!
As the United States approaches its 250th anniversary, we face a fundamental question: Whose America are we celebrating?
From the unfinished promise of the Equal Rights Amendment, to the fall of Roe v. Wade, the story of American democracy has always been intertwined with the struggle for women’s equality.
Women—especially Black women—have long been among democracy’s most engaged participants, yet the institutions meant to represent the people continue to fall short of reflecting the nation’s diversity, needs and aspirations.
The erosion of reproductive freedom, voting rights and representative government are not separate crises; they are connected symptoms of a democracy that remains incomplete. Anti-democratic forces have repeatedly overridden popular will, making it harder to achieve broadly supported policies that would improve the lives of women and families. The fight for gender equality, bodily autonomy and political power is inseparable from the fight to build a democracy that truly works for everyone.
That conviction is at the heart of FEMINIST 250: Democracy’s Feminist Future, which begins at Ms. Thursday, June 18.
Through essays from leading advocates, organizers and thinkers—including LaTosha Brown, Skye Perryman, Reshma Saujani and Inimai Chettiar—the series offers bold ideas for strengthening democratic institutions, advancing equality and creating a more inclusive future.
Taken together, these essays remind us that democracy remains a feminist project—and that the next chapter of the American experiment is still ours to write.
In every issue of Ms., we track research on our progress in the fight for equality, catalogue can’t-miss quotes from feminist voices and keep tabs on the feminist movement’s many milestones. We’re Keeping Score online, too—in this biweekly roundup.
This week:
—”Trump only seems to have the capability to fire female secretaries,” observes AOC.
—Two-thirds of abortion clinics reported violence or harassment in 2025.
—The TAKE IT DOWN Act (Tools to Address Known Exploitation by Immobilizing Technological Deepfakes on Websites and Networks Act) took effect last month. It requires social media sites to take down non-consensual sexual imagery within 48 hours.
—Members of Congress visited the Delaney Hall Immigration Detention Center after detainees started a hunger strike to protest inhumane conditions.
—The Trump administration announced an investigation into E. Jean Carroll, who Trump sexually abused and defamed.
—Harvey Weinstein’s New York rape trial resulted in another mistrial.
—A North Carolina bill would allow deadly force against patients seeking abortion care.
—Healthcare premiums have skyrocketed, forcing 21 percent of HealthCare.gov enrollees to lose coverage.
—Women freelancers charge an average of 19 percent less per hour than men.
—Americans are struggling to access disability benefits after cuts to the Social Security Administration.
—Social media platforms are enabling anti-LGBTQ hate and censorship.
—Rep. Ayanna Pressley (D-Mass.) and Sen. Dick Durbin (D-Ill.) reintroduced the Federal Death Penalty Prohibition Act to ban the death penalty at the federal level. Last month, the DOJ announced they would bring back firing squads and potentially electrocution and lethal gas for executions.
—A comprehensive calendar shows all the Pride parades this month, across the country and globe.
… and more.
In August, the Department of Women’s, Gender and Sexuality Studies at the University of Texas at Austin will close. I joined the department last year after leaving the University of Iowa’s Gender, Women’s and Sexuality Studies department, which also closed this year. As programs in women’s studies, ethnic studies and Black studies disappear across the country, I’ve found myself reflecting on how I became a feminist historian—and why this work matters now more than ever.
Back in 2005, as an undergraduate student at San Francisco State University, I took a course on feminist activists and read Angela Davis’ Women, Race, and Class. Davis argued that the experiences of Black women could only be understood through the intersecting forces of race, gender and class—and that confronting racism, misogyny and poverty was essential to liberation. From that moment, I knew a feminist view of history could transform how I understood present-day inequality and how I wanted to teach those ideas to future students.
For years, I brought that framework into the classroom, helping students connect the histories of voting rights, reproductive justice, racial discrimination and gendered violence to the challenges they see unfolding around them today. As feminist studies and ethnic studies programs come under increasing attack, I remain convinced that this work is indispensable. Nearly 45 years after Davis historicized the triad of women, race and class, we still need that critical lens to understand our world—and to defend human dignity and justice within it.