Andrew Tate in His Own Words: On Men’s Rights, Anti-Feminism and How He ‘Threatens the System’

Andrew Tate is not a garden variety misogynist. Nor is he a typical sexual assault suspect.  

Rather, he is a leader—and icon—in the global anti-feminist men’s rights movement who rose to fame and fortune over the past decade through a potent blend of personal charisma, overweening ambition and cynical opportunism.

And he is an alleged rapist and sex trafficker.

He is currently in U.S. federal custody in Miami, along with his brother Tristan, awaiting possible extradition to the United Kingdom on 59 criminal charges that include multiple allegations of violent rape and physical assault.

Andrew Tate is also a right-wing political figure who has vociferously and repeatedly attacked feminism, and has had an outsized influence globally in the normalization of overt expressions of misogyny by men and boys.   

Much has been written about Tate over the years. A recent piece in The New Yorker that has attracted much attention is entitled “Andrew Tate’s Empire of Abuse,” by Heidi Blake. The article’s subtitle reads “How the defining figure of the manosphere built a fortune—and became a political force—by systematically exploiting women.”

But for anyone who wants insight into the ways in which the former professional kickboxer has been able to assemble an enormous following of boys and men, there’s another valuable source of information: Tate himself.

When Power Protects Abuse: Eric Swalwell Accusations Reveal Architecture of Male Entitlement in Congress

When survivors of Jeffrey Epstein stood in the Capitol during the State of the Union earlier this year, we were meant to read it as a sign that this Congress takes the sexual exploitation of women and children seriously. But weeks later, that symbolism rings hollow to anyone who watched Kevin McCarthy appear on television, bluntly telling the world that “every member of Congress” knew about allegations against Eric Swalwell.

Let’s sit with that for a moment. Lawmakers invited Epstein survivors into the chamber, while simultaneously elevating a colleague with his own credibly documented history of violence against young women—one who was until very recently, positioning himself as California’s next governor.

If we cannot connect those two facts, we are not serious about addressing these issues.

I Want to Be Obsolete. Instead, I’m Afraid to Teach.

I want to be obsolete. I want to walk into a classroom full of students excited to learn feminist histories and begin by marveling at how far we’ve come—how unthinkable it now feels that a president once demeaned women, faced dozens of credible accusations of sexual violence, and still rose to the highest office in the country. I want that version of this story to feel distant, resolved, finished.

Instead, I walk into my gender, women and sexuality studies classes scanning for signs of hostility—wondering who might be recording, who might be there to report me, who might see my teaching not as scholarship but as something to punish.

Teaching about marginalized communities, especially through a feminist, anti-racist lens, now carries real risk: of being surveilled, doxxed, harassed or silenced. Books are banned, curricula are targeted, and the very act of naming systems of power is treated as a threat.

And yet, I keep teaching. I keep showing students that what they are experiencing is not individual failure but the result of structural forces—and that those forces can be challenged. I tell them their voices matter, their rage is justified, and their histories deserve to be known.

I would rather be obsolete. But as long as these attacks persist, our work is far from done.

‘My Heart Breaks for the Survivors’: Hillary Clinton Defends Anti-Trafficking Record, Demands Transparency in Epstein Probe

The following statement was delivered by former Secretary of State and U.S. Sen. Hillary Rodham Clinton at the start of a closed-door deposition before the House Oversight Committee, as part of its ongoing inquiry into the federal government’s handling of Jeffrey Epstein’s crimes.

In the statement, Clinton tells lawmakers she had no knowledge of Epstein’s or Ghislaine Maxwell’s criminal activities and does not recall ever meeting or speaking with Epstein, flying on his planes or visiting any of his properties. She says she has no new information to provide to the committee.

Her testimony is both a denial of involvement and a broader political and policy argument—one that defends her record on combating human trafficking, criticizes the committee’s approach and calls for wider accountability in Epstein-related investigations and anti-trafficking efforts. Clinton characterizes the subpoena as part of a partisan investigation designed to create “political theater” and distract from what she describes as more relevant lines of inquiry, particularly those involving former President Donald Trump and others named in Epstein-related materials.

Raped, Recorded, Shared—Then Abandoned by the System: ‘Once It’s on the Internet, It’s Out There’

Survivors of online sexual exploitation and abuse are not just confronting individual perpetrators—they are up against systems that were never designed to protect them.

A new report by Equality Now and the Sexual Violence Prevention Association documents how survivors who report tech-facilitated sexual abuse routinely encounter jurisdictional dead ends, outdated laws and opaque platform policies that leave harmful material circulating indefinitely. For many, the abuse does not end with the assault itself, but continues through repeated viewing, sharing and threats—often with devastating financial, professional and psychological consequences.

The report also makes clear that this harm is not inevitable. Survivors point to concrete policy solutions that could meaningfully change outcomes: consent-based laws governing the online distribution of sexual material, clear and enforceable takedown obligations for tech companies, survivor-centered reporting systems and access to free legal and mental health support.

Accountability is possible, but only if lawmakers and platforms choose to act.

Sex, Power and Impunity: Epstein’s Legacy in Historical Perspective

The scandal that has preoccupied much of mainstream U.S. politics has, been, at one level, delightful: We have seen extremist Republicans—Reps. Marjorie Taylor Greene, Lauren Boebert, Thomas Massie and Nancy Mace—break with their party and its president in an effort to force into light the U.S. Department of Justice files on convicted sex trafficker and pedophile Jeffrey Epstein. 

The story is almost irresistible for critics of the current national administration, feminists among them: Will we finally get to items from Epstein like the CD labeled “girl pics nude book 4”? What might these materials reveal? And whose misbehavior might they reveal?  

Fire the starting gun on analyses from every liberal, left, critical corner. Claims abound of shifting coalitions, changing tides, pages turned, a president’s authority shredded. 

But there are still as many questions stirring in the Epstein pot as there are answers. Why did these particular Republicans break from the pack? Is this a contemporary Republican version of feminism? 

And beneath them all: What good does it actually do us—or Epstein’s particular victims, or the scads of other victims of sexual coercion, trafficking and other mistreatment—to raise the heat so high on this particular scandal?

What Boys Learn When Powerful Men Face No Consequences

For decades, Donald Trump has modeled a version of masculinity rooted in entitlement, impunity and the casual degradation of women—and he has done so from one of the most visible platforms on Earth. That visibility matters. When the most powerful man in the country repeatedly evades consequences for misogynous acts, it sends a potent cultural message to boys and young men about what manhood looks like and what women’s lives are worth.

This is why the stakes of the Epstein files extend far beyond Trump’s personal exposure. His ability—or inability—to finally face accountability is inseparable from the broader crisis of male socialization and the normalization of men’s violence against women.

At the same time, focusing solely on Trump risks missing the larger system that made Jeffrey Epstein’s predation possible. As feminists have long argued, these abuses were not aberrations but expressions of a patriarchal network that exploited girls and women with impunity. The Epstein saga is not simply a story of individual bad actors; it is an indictment of the cultural, financial and political institutions that protected them. Whether the public and political leaders confront that reality—or once again look away—will reveal as much about our collective values as it does about the men at the center of this scandal.

Virginia Giuffre’s Posthumous Memoir Is an Indictment of the Men and Institutions That Enabled Her Abuse

I thought I was mentally prepared to read Virginia Roberts Giuffre’s posthumous book, Nobody’s Girl. I was wrong. If reading the book was gut-wrenching, I can’t imagine what it was like for her and other girls and women who experience the horrors of being trafficked.

In the final paragraph of the book, and perhaps in some of the final sentences she ever wrote, Giuffre tells that she will have achieved her goal with Nobody’s Girl if “just one person” is moved to create “a world in which predators are punished, not protected; victims are treated with compassion, not shamed; and powerful people face the same consequences as everybody else.”

Although she never lived to see this day, her book, her courage and her rage compel us to fight for this goal in the name of all victims and survivors of sex trafficking. 

The Part of the Epstein Story We Keep Ignoring? Survivors.

Virginia Giuffre fought Jeffrey Epstein and Ghislaine Maxwell for decades. As a survivor of their trafficking, she spoke truth to power and endured public scrutiny as she became one of their most vocal and transparent accusers. On April 24, she died by suicide. 

Her death should have marked a devastating failure of our systems to support trafficking survivors. Instead, it became another footnote in a political circus focused on conspiracy theories and file releases.

Thank You, Cassie Ventura. Your Voice Broke the Silence for Millions of Survivors.

Dear Cassie Ventura,

Millions who do not have the celebrity, resources or platform to speak out are exceptionally grateful for your voice, and the voice of all the courageous women who literally take the stand. 

The millions of women who have experienced rape and sexual assault are grateful at a time when resources for them are in danger of elimination.