More Than A Magazine, A Movement
Violence against women refers to any act of physical, sexual, psychological, economic or structural harm directed at women because they are women, rooted in gender inequality and systems of patriarchy that seek to control women’s bodies, autonomy and participation in public and private life.
Gender-based violence is any act of violence, abuse, coercion or deprivation of liberty committed against a person because of their gender, gender identity or gender expression. GBV stems from power imbalances, sexism, homophobia and transphobia—and includes violence against women, girls, trans and nonbinary people, and anyone whose gender does not conform to dominant norms.
The U.S. ranks as the 19th most dangerous country for women, 11th in maternal mortality, 30th in closing the gender pay gap, 75th in women’s political representation, and painfully lacks paid family leave and equal access to healthcare. But Ms. has always understood: Feminist movements around the world hold answers to some of the U.S.’s most intractable problems. Ms. Global is taking note of feminists worldwide.
This week: stories from Iran, Afghanistan, the Netherlands and more.
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.
On Jan. 7, Taliban leader Hibatullah Akhundzada signed off on the “Penal Principles of Taliban Courts,” a sweeping new penal code that fundamentally reshapes Afghanistan’s legal system: formalizing violence, criminalizing dissent, legalizing slavery and stripping women of legal personhood under the guise of religious law. It took effect immediately without public announcement or consultation.
The regulation only became public weeks later after an Afghan human rights organization, Rawadari, published the text, raising alarm over provisions that legalize slavery, authorize private violence and institutionalize repression across nearly every aspect of life.
According to the regulation, absolute obedience to the Taliban’s supreme leader is mandatory. The penal code also codifies a rigid social hierarchy, dividing society into four classes and explicitly recognizing individuals as either “free” or “enslaved,” with harsher punishments imposed on those deemed lower status. Human rights advocates warn this structure institutionalizes discrimination and revives concepts long prohibited under international law.
Women are among the most severely targeted. Under multiple iniquitous provisions, husbands are authorized to punish their wives through discretionary violence, while domestic abuse is only recognized as a crime in limited circumstances and carries a maximum sentence of 15 days imprisonment for the perpetrator.
In contrast, forcing animals to fight carries a longer prison sentence than severe violence against women—reinforcing a sinister legal hierarchy in which women’s lives are afforded less protection than animal welfare.
These codes are not merely domestic policies. They will shape the psychological, social and moral landscape of an entire population and a new generation growing up under the Taliban’s brutal regime. Children are being raised under a system where violence is law, obedience is survival and women are denied humanity. The cost of inaction will not be measured only in today’s abuses, but in the long-term destabilization of Afghan society and the normalization of extremist governance beyond its borders.
The Epstein files scandal has all the elements of a gigantic media spectacle. It encompasses everything from true crime to political intrigue, and offers a peak behind closed doors into the lifestyles of the rich and famous. It has more than a little sex and violence.
It’s a conspiracy theory come to life.
Media commentary has explored seemingly every angle. Or has it? On closer examination, something has been missing.
LADY is a film about perspective—about choosing what we see and how we see it, as well as what we decide is important. It’s also a film that consciously balances discomfort with bravery, weaving a tale about a woman on the cusp of a sea change, uncertain whether or not she’s willing to be taken up by its current.
Winner of the 2026 Sundance World Cinema Dramatic Special Jury Award for Acting Ensemble, LADY is, according to the jury, “a film full of depth and texture and with a rhythm all its own, with an electric ensemble cast that brings life and humor and insight to a story about day-to-day challenges and finding safety in unexpected friendships.”
(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.)
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.
Let me tell you what it’s like to live in state-sanctioned, gender-based violence.
In prison, we wake up when male guards tell us to. We wear what they tell us to wear. We eat what they give us, when they decide to give it. We go where they permit, speak when they allow, and exist under their constant surveillance. Our bodies belong to the state. Our movements are controlled. Our communications are monitored. They have the power to deny or delay our medical care, and our complaints go ignored or punished.
Incarcerated journalist Kwaneta Harris explains that when we tolerate sexual assault in women’s prisons, we signal that the state can commit violence against people without consequences.
A gripping portrait of a Juárez factory worker who becomes an avenger after systemic violence against women goes unpunished, The Huntress (or La Cazadora) explores how myth, motherhood and desperation collide in a city where justice is scarce.
(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.)
As unbelievable as it sounds, President Donald Trump’s Department of Justice has deployed the FACE Act—not against antiabortion extremists who invade clinics and terrorize patients, but against journalists documenting political protests and peaceful activists decrying the killing of Renee Good by federal ICE agents.
The Freedom of Access to Clinic Entrances and Places of Religious Worship (FACE) Act, a law designed primarily to protect abortion providers, clinic staff and patients, is being perverted by the DOJ as part of its broader effort to deny freedom of the press and undermine the rule of law.
The DOJ has criminally charged nine people, including two journalists, under the FACE Act for entering a church to speak out against a pastor who is reportedly the acting field director for ICE in Minneapolis. The high-profile and highly unusual arrests of journalist and former CNN anchor Don Lemon and independent Minneapolis journalist Georgia Fort, along with several peaceful activists, underscore the Trump administration’s latest attack on the rule of law, freedom of speech, and the right to assembly.
The Trump administration purposefully ignored clinic invasions and blockades by antiabortion extremist groups in 2025—all while reproductive health clinic staff and patients have experienced a dramatic surge in threats and violence.
Afghanistan. Myanmar. Syria. The Democratic Republic of the Congo.
Over the last 80 years, there has rarely been a situation of atrocity that has not been marked by the commission of crimes against humanity. These crimes, defined by their widespread or systematic nature, target civilians and devastate societies.
Yet, while the international community has created legal regimes to address war crimes and genocide, we lack a global legal architecture for the prevention, suppression and punishment of crimes against humanity, leaving millions across the globe at risk and justice elusive for survivors.
The start of negotiations for such a treaty is not just overdue; it is of historic importance. Late last month, the United Nations General Assembly launched a four-year process to prepare for and negotiate a new global treaty to prevent and punish crimes against humanity by 2028. If it is crafted with ambition and resolve, it can be a game-changer for international accountability, strengthen the rules-based order and offer hope and justice to victims and survivors.