A Rape-Survivor-Turned-Prosecutor Is Teaching Women How to Heal

One of us is a doctor, the other a lawyer. We’re also members of a club that no woman ever asks to join, but too many are forced into, often by men they loved and trusted.

JoDee Neil, a Texas attorney and former prosecutor, has spent her career seeking justice for survivors of sexual violence. Now, in her new book Outcry Witness, she tells her own story—one shaped by rape, trauma and the long, uneven path toward healing. As survivors ourselves, we recognized something familiar in each other: the understanding that comes without explanation, and the belief that when institutions fail us, women often become each other’s lifeline.

An “outcry witness” is the first person a survivor tells about their abuse, and that response can shape the course of healing. Neil argues that being believed is not a small act of compassion—it is the foundation on which survivors rebuild their lives.

In an era when powerful men continue to evade accountability, Outcry Witness offers something the legal system too often cannot: validation, community and hope.

Our conversation became more than an interview. It became a reminder that storytelling is itself an act of resistance—that women speaking honestly to one another can challenge shame, expose violence and create the conditions for healing.

“We are at the precipice of the dam breaking,” Neil told me. “We’ve never been able to communicate in real time with each other, to really put the pieces together. … I am so full of excitement to be a part of this movement for humanity.”

Her book is an invitation for survivors to do exactly that.

Carré Otis Has Opened a Door for Survivors of Abuse in the Modeling Industry. Will Others Walk Through It?

A new legal door opened earlier this month in the fight for survivor justice. But it’s not in the United States, where survivors and advocates continue to press for transparency and investigations into Jeffrey Epstein’s larger network and the modeling industry’s potential role in it. It’s in France.

Carré Otis, a U.S.-based former supermodel and board member of the Model Alliance, filed a criminal complaint in French court alleging rape of a minor and human trafficking by Gérald Marie, a former giant of the modeling industry who led Elite Model Management’s European operations from 1985 to 2010.

The complaint alleges that Otis was 17 when Elite sent her to Paris in 1986 and housed her in Gérald Marie’s apartment, where she “mistakenly believ[ed] that he wanted to support her modeling career.” While living there, Otis alleges that Marie raped her on multiple occasions and later arranged for her to be “provided to other wealthy men across Europe.” The complaint also says Otis was never paid for her modeling work.

Marie has denied Otis’ allegations, and because of France’s statute of limitations, cannot be criminally prosecuted for these particular allegations.

Still, Otis’ recent filing could prove consequential well beyond her own case.

After Years of Delays, E. Jean Carroll Is Finally Paid

President Donald Trump has paid writer E. Jean Carroll $5.6 million after exhausting his appeals in the civil case in which a federal jury found him liable for sexually abusing and defaming her. The payment, which includes interest and had been held in escrow during the appeals process, was released after the Supreme Court declined to hear Trump’s final appeal and a federal judge ordered the funds disbursed. A separate $83.3 million defamation judgment against Trump in a different Carroll case remains under appeal.

Where to Watch ‘Ask E. Jean,’ a New Documentary on the Wit, Fury and Fearlessness of E. Jean Carroll

E. Jean Carroll—the colorful author and advice columnist who beat Donald Trump in court twice—is finally getting the documentary treatment in Ask E. Jean, a film that is as poignant as it is entertaining.

Director Ivy Meeropol first reached out to Carroll after reading the devastating yet vibrant New York Magazine piece in which Carroll accused Trump of raping her in a Bergdorf Goodman dressing room decades earlier.

Carroll’s initial response: “I’d rather eat my shoe.”

But Meeropol persisted, eventually convincing Carroll she wanted to tell the fuller story of her life—not just the trials, but her remarkable rise during the heyday of glossy magazines and New York media culture.

The resulting film traces Carroll’s evolution from Indiana cheerleader to professionally fabulous Manhattan raconteur, weaving together archival footage, legal depositions and deeply personal interviews.

Some of the documentary’s most powerful moments come from previously unseen deposition footage, where Carroll recounts the 1996 assault while enduring invasive questioning from Trump attorney Alina Habba. Even in those moments, Carroll remains irrepressibly funny.

Meeropol says the footage reveals “what really happens when someone who’s brought a charge of rape or sexual abuse is deposed,” while also exposing the broader misogyny women confront “from the minute we’re born.”

Meeropol also describes struggling against “The Trump Effect”—fear within the entertainment industry about supporting projects that could provoke retaliation from Trump or his allies. Distributors hesitated, some producers reportedly asked not to be credited, and the film was repeatedly stalled despite strong festival reviews.

But Ask E. Jean is now expanding into theaters nationwide, bringing Carroll’s story to audiences at a moment when the politics of gender, power and public accountability remain impossible to ignore.

Eric Swalwell and the Persistent Problem of Silent Complicity

The Eric Swalwell scandal is an altogether familiar and tired exercise: When allegations surface against a powerful man, the people around him scramble to distance themselves, downplay what they knew, or deny any knowledge at all. And yet, time and again, these cases are described as “open secrets.”

The real question is not just what he did, but what the people around him saw, heard and chose not to act on.

This is where the conversation needs to shift. For decades, sexual assault prevention educators have argued that we need to move beyond the perpetrator-victim binary and focus on the role of bystanders: What could colleagues have done? What kept them from speaking up?

The pressure to be “one of the guys,” to not rock the boat, to protect friendships or careers, remains enormously powerful. If we are serious about preventing abuse, institutions like Congress need to do more than react after the fact. They need to equip people, especially men, with the tools, the permission and the expectation to intervene before harm escalates.

The Latest Cache of Epstein Files Haven’t (and Won’t) Spark Wall Street’s #MeToo Moment

In 2010, a 28-year-old woman working at the London branch of a Wall Street bank was leaving the office around 10 p.m. when a colleague pushed her against a wall and tried to forcibly kiss her. “A cab driver saw what was happening and physically pulled him off me,” the woman, who asked not to be named for fear of repercussions, told me. She reported the incident the next day to her manager, who told her she “should dress for the job I want” and not “like a stripper.” The women quit a month later. “I just wanted out,” she said. “I was mortified.”

What is notable about this story is how common it is. Even now, she said, you can speak to almost any woman who has spent time working in finance and she will know someone who has been harassed or assaulted. Often she has her own story.

That culture, and Wall Street’s willingness to perpetuate it, is back in the spotlight after the latest release of emails linked to Jeffrey Epstein, which are reviving scrutiny of his extensive connections across the industry.

‘The Bride!’ Speaks Back: Rage and Autonomy in Gyllenhaal’s Frankenstein

Women are often stereotyped as overly talkative—gossiping, ‘blabbing’ or labeled ‘chatty Cathys.’ Archie Bunker in the television series All in the Family often tells his wife Edith to “stifle yourself” to stop her talking. Recently, one critic argued that “the bride” (played by Jessie Buckley) in writer-director Maggie Gyllenhaal’s new movie of the same name, talks too much.

What makes Gyllenhaal’s reinvention of James Whale’s 1935 film Bride of Frankenstein story so compelling is precisely because this fabricated lady has her own voice and uses it loudly and in a rage. We’re glad she speaks.

The Pathetic Price of Entry to Epstein’s World

The latest batch of Epstein files—over 3 million documents, only around half of what the Department of Justice reports to have amassed—has unleashed a new cast of characters, a list that includes tech titans, health influencers, litigation rainmakers, university leaders, sports executives, Hollywood moguls and international royalty. None of the those named in the latest tranche of Epstein files strike me as people I ever assumed possessed particularly stellar moral character, and their collective fall from grace doesn’t shock me.

But what does turn my stomach is how pathetically small the price of entry into Epstein’s world appears to have been.

The expressions of regret now surfacing—I am ashamed, this is not who I am!—read less like moral reckonings and more like the lament of those who simply got caught.

The emails reveal a tawdry economy of access: absurd favors, crude jokes, dating advice, shared handwringing about #MeToo, and giddy acceptance of gifts—Apple Watches, Prada bags, monogrammed sweatshirts—that these already powerful figures could easily have bought themselves.

Whether any individual named in the files participated in or witnessed Epstein’s crimes is only part of the story. Just as telling is the desperate desire to remain in his orbit—often long after his 2008 guilty plea for soliciting prostitution from girls.

That eagerness to maintain proximity, for so little in return, speaks volumes about how power protects itself—and what too many were willing to overlook to stay connected to it.

Sundance 2026: Documentary ‘Silenced’ Exposes How Defamation Suits Muzzle Survivors and Journalists

Featuring the cases of Amber Heard, Gisèle Pelicot, Brittany Higgins, Colombian journalists at Volcánicas and others, Silenced traces a global pattern of defamation suits used to punish survivors and the reporters who amplify their stories.

It’s a fitting but frustrating coda that Silenced itself faced legal threats right after its festival premiere.

(This is one in a series of film reviews from the 2026 Sundance Film Festival, focused on films by women, trans or nonbinary directors that tell compelling stories about the lives of women and girls.)

A Feminist Historian’s Year-End Reading and Viewing Guide

As the year winds down, I find myself returning—as I always do—to the stories, performances and ideas that have shaped my teaching and thinking. Feminism’s past is never really past; it’s a living archive we carry with us, full of unresolved questions, missteps, breakthroughs and beautiful, complicated people. This year’s reading and viewing list reflects that sensibility.

Liberation forces its contemporary narrator—and its audience—to reckon with the impossible expectations we’ve placed on small groups of women in church basements.

Molly Jong-Fast’s memoir presses on the tender, maddening ties between feminist foremothers and the daughters who grew up in their shadow.

Sarah Weinman’s study of spousal rape laws exposes just how recently the law stopped treating wives’ bodies as open territory—while showing how fiercely survivors and advocates have had to push for change that should never have been controversial.