Women in Law

Keshia Golden’s Plea Deal Kept Her Out of Prison—But Don’t Mistake It for Justice

PUBLISHED 8/31/2026 by

Keshia Golden’s attorneys say that in October 2022, while she was eight-plus months pregnant, her then-boyfriend Calvin Sidney hit her, grabbed her hair and slammed her head against a kitchen counter. Golden grabbed a kitchen knife and stabbed Sidney in the leg. Golden only intended to make him stop, she has always insisted. But she hit the femoral artery. Sidney died at a Chicago hospital.

Keshia Golden was charged with first-degree murder and held in jail, where, weeks from giving birth, she was transferred to the medical unit to recover from her injuries. Four years passed.

Then, on Aug. 24, 2026, just before Golden’s trial was to begin, the Cook County state’s attorney Eileen O’Neill Burke offered Golden a last-minute deal: If she pled guilty to involuntary manslaughter and underwent two years of community service, drug testing and probation, she would serve no prison time.

All evidence points to the fact that Golden acted in self-defense and should never have been charged in the first place.

Nonetheless, she accepted the plea.

Her acceptance of this lesser charge is not an admission of guilt. It’s also not justice.

Golden is a single mother who was forced to make an impossible choice to ensure she would be able to raise her 3-year-old daughter. “All she has is me,” Golden said in court. 

Now, the only remaining path to justice for Golden is a pardon from Gov. JB Pritzker. Such a pardon would send a clear message: No woman should have to die to prove that she was a victim. No one should be punished for surviving abuse, defending themselves or protecting their child.

The Deportation of 5-Year-Old Liam Tadeo Signals a Darker Era for Immigration Policy

PUBLISHED 8/31/2026 by

Five-year-old Liam Tadeo and his dad, Victor Martinez Nieto, planned to spend the last day of summer before kindergarten playing soccer. Instead, on Sunday, Aug. 16, on the way to Liam’s game, ICE agents pulled them over, arrested them and sent both father and son to a family detention center in Dilley, Texas. 

Victor begged ICE to release Liam to his mom, but according to their attorney, Kate Lincoln-Goldfinch, ICE ignored the request. (ICE did not respond to a request for comment.)

It became clear that if Victor—who does not have legal status in the United States—chose to fight his detention or deportation, he risked losing Liam. DHS would likely treat Liam as an “unaccompanied minor” and send him to the Office of Refugee Resettlement for placement in a shelter or foster care, despite the presence of his mother and other family members ready and able to care for him. 

The family decided to accept the deportation order, despite the wrenching consequences of taking Liam from his family and his home. At least, this way, he will be with his dad in Mexico. 

ICE deported Liam and Victor on Aug. 28.

According to Lincoln-Goldfinch, Liam wasn’t able to say goodbye to his mother.

Such cruelty has become the norm in Trump’s immigration regime, but it is carried out quietly and with brutal efficiency. ICE arrested more than 46,000 people in July alone; for the first time, arrests of people without a criminal record surpassed the number of individuals arrested based (however tangentially) on a past criminal arrest or conviction.  

Change didn’t come in time for Liam and his family, but hundreds of thousands of children, regardless of their immigration status, can still be protected. Restoring a fair and just system demands political courage, public outrage, and major policy reform. But it begins by exposing the subtle, despicable tactics that turn children like Liam Tadeo into pawns of immigration policy.

I Want an Oura Ring. As a Reproductive Health Lawyer, I Know Better.

PUBLISHED 8/23/2026 by

I almost bought an Oura Ring at 3:12 in the morning. I was lying awake in my small D.C. apartment, my phone casting a blue glow across my face. I couldn’t sleep. Again. My mind was already racing through the work waiting for me in the morning: Federal Register alerts, Google alerts for abortion ban and pregnancy criminalization, another headline about a woman denied reproductive care.

So I did what people do when they can’t sleep: I shopped. I opened the Target app looking for something—anything—that might help me sleep, and soon an Oura Ring was sitting in my cart. Before checking out I opened TikTok to see whether it was actually worth it. Soon, I was watching a woman talk about her Oura Ring the way people talk about a revelation, a religious experience. One video became 10. Women talked about the ring as if it had given them access to a version of their bodies they had never been able to understand before. It noticed signs of illness before they felt sick. It helped explain their exhaustion. It tracked their cycles and identified patterns connected to fertility and pregnancy. Its promise was simple and seductive: the ring might know what was happening inside your body before you did.

It sounded incredible. I wanted the ring to tell me why I was so tired. I wanted it to warn me before I got sick. More than anything, I wanted to understand my own body. 

For generations, women have been told their pain is normal, their cycles are mysterious, and their instincts are unreliable. So when a device promises to listen to your body every minute of every day and translate its signals into something you can finally understand, it doesn’t feel like a luxury. It feels like power.

‘It’s Killing the Women You Represent’: Texas Widower’s Plea to Lawmakers to End Abortion Ban

PUBLISHED 8/21/2026 by

After his 35-year-old wife bled to death from a miscarriage in a Houston-area hospital, a Texas father is suing—and taking her story to Capitol Hill.

“Choosing to bring new life into the world shouldn’t be a death sentence,” insisted Michelle Maloney, the San Antonio attorney working to bring justice to Texas widower Hope Ngumezi and his two young sons.

Three years ago, in June 2023, Hope’s beloved wife Porsha was happily expecting the couple’s third child until she began to miscarry at 11 weeks pregnant. The healthy 35-year-old finance manager for a charter school went to the emergency room at Houston Methodist Sugar Land Hospital, just 10 minutes from her home in suburban Houston.

Both she and Hope were certain that she would receive the safe and critical medical care that she needed as she passed fetal tissue and blood clots the size of grapefruits at the hospital. An ultrasound confirmed that she had partially miscarried and that her fetus no longer had a heartbeat. But the heavy bleeding didn’t stop.

Still, the hospital’s OB-GYN, who examined her just once, moved Porsha from the ER—where staff were equipped to respond to emergencies—to a regular floor, where she received less monitoring. Porsha arrived at the hospital at 3:37 p.m. By 2 a.m., she began gasping for air and within minutes, she had died of hemorrhage.

A dozen doctors who reviewed her medical records for ProPublica, which broke the story about her death, said that Porsha should have urgently received a very simple and standard procedure for a miscarriage—a D&C (dilation and curettage). The 10-15 minute D&C would have removed all remaining fetal tissue in her womb, which her uterus was trying to expel with heavy contractions and bleeding. The procedure would have stopped the bleeding.

“The poor thing bled to death for lack of a D&C. It’s atrocious,” Austin OB-GYN Nancy Binford told Courier Texas.

Why the Blake Lively Case Matters—and Why Most Women Like Her Have No Legal Recourse

PUBLISHED 7/22/2026 by

According to Blake Lively’s allegations, Justin Baldoni repeatedly discussed his porn addiction and personal sex life, made comments about her body and improvised physical intimacy that had not been choreographed.

Her claims were dismissed, not because a judge found them lacking in merit, but for procedural reasons tied to her independent contractor status under California law. The harassment itself was never adjudicated.

In 2019, in direct response to the #MeToo movement, New York state lowered the bar for what constitutes sexual harassment. Under current New York law, a worker cannot be subjected to inferior terms or conditions of employment because of their sex. Behavior that rises above a petty slight or trivial inconvenience is now actionable.

In my practice, I see the real effects of sexual harassment on women every day. That psychological weight is real and costly. Not only are women jumping from job to job to avoid harassers, but companies are also losing talented employees.

It is time for federal law to catch up, lowering the standard so that harassment that subjects women to inferior terms and conditions of employment is actionable, regardless of which state they work in.

Women’s Sports Were Built by Letting Girls In

PUBLISHED 7/9/2026 by

When the Supreme Court upheld West Virginia’s ban on transgender girls participating in girls’ school sports in West Virginia v. B.P.J., it said the ruling was about protecting the safety and fairness of women’s and girls’ sports. I hear that claim against everything I actually lived.

Thirty years ago, in United States v. Virginia, the Supreme Court held that generalizations about “the way women are” cannot justify denying opportunity to women whose talent and capacity place them outside the average description. That principle didn’t just build my generation of athletes. It built a generation of women: the litigators and judges, the surgeons, the CEOs and entrepreneurs, the senators and governors, the police officers and firefighters and fighter pilots, the women who were the first of everything. Every one of those doors was held shut by the same argument Virginia made: Most women wouldn’t want this, most women couldn’t do it.

Women of my generation didn’t fight to be seen as individuals—as athletes, as leaders, as whatever they had it in them to be—only to watch that principle eroded now, in their name and over their objection.

More than half a century ago, this country decided that girls who had been told they didn’t belong on the field belonged there after all. I got to live the proof of that promise. The work now is to keep that promise for every kid who wants to play.

A Single Abortion Clinic Closing Rarely Makes Headlines. What Happens When None Are Left?

PUBLISHED 7/8/2026 by

Picture a map of the United States. It’s 2022, and in southern states like Texas and Tennessee, there are clusters of black dots that represent independent clinic closures. These are abortion care black holes: communities where it’s no longer possible to get an abortion at a nearby clinic.

Fast forward to present. It’s 2026, four years after the Supreme Court’s decision in Dobbs v. Jackson Women’s Health Organization, and black dots have multiplied in states across the country. It no longer matters if the state is red or blue, governed by conservatives or progressives. None are immune to the increasing weight of political pressure, financial strain and operational difficulty that are forcing independent clinics to close or stop providing abortion care.

Each of these black dots is a community suffering a healthcare crisis, and they are proliferating across the United States at a rapid rate.

Independent clinics are often the only places to get clinical abortion care, unbiased information and support for pregnancy options. They are where people go to feel safe and respected, whether they are getting an abortion, continuing a pregnancy or getting gender-affirming care. In small towns and rural spaces, these clinics are often the only safe place for many people, especially those who are LGBTQIA+. If clinics close, there is often nowhere else to go.

And once abortion clinics close, it’s not as simple as reopening when they can, if they can. Even if a specific restriction is lifted, severe financial constraints, continued political hostility, threats of violence and legal uncertainty still stand.

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

PUBLISHED 7/5/2026 by

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.

The World Cup Is Here—But Who Is It For?

PUBLISHED 6/23/2026 by

Soccer is one of the most beloved sports in the world, and the 2026 FIFA World Cup—the largest in the tournament’s history—has drawn millions of fans across the globe. This year, for the first time, the event is being jointly hosted by the United States, Canada and Mexico, with matches and related events taking place across North America.

FIFA stands to earn billions of dollars from the tournament.

But as the organization reaps record revenues, many host communities are bearing significant costs. Soaring ticket prices, displacement, labor concerns and aggressive immigration enforcement have raised questions about who truly benefits from the World Cup. For many working-class residents—and even lifelong soccer fans—the tournament is out of reach.

To better understand those impacts, I spoke with Jennifer Li, co-director of the Center for Community Health Innovation at the O’Neill Institute and director of Dignity 2026, a coalition of labor and human rights organizations working to protect communities most at risk during the World Cup.

Soccer “is very much an immigrant sport, let’s face it,” said Li, “and by extension, a sport for people of color, diverse communities. It is a sport that’s not expensive to play, but very expensive to watch, apparently. So, the question then becomes: Who is this for?”

What Do Most Female Prisoners Have in Common? They Are Actually Victims.

PUBLISHED 6/8/2026 by

When I first began reporting on incarcerated women, I was fascinated by studies that showed that showed that upwards of 70 percent of women in jails and prisons were subjected to intimate partner violence before they were incarcerated.

But as I covered more stories on the topic, I started to see that, more disturbingly, many women I interviewed had been incarcerated because they responded to violence perpetuated against them.

Again and again in my research, I came upon cases in which a woman claimed that she had acted in self-defense, or had followed orders from an abuser because she didn’t want to die, or had protected a loved one — and she was subsequently charged with murder, convicted, and locked away, sometimes for life. This is the little-known phenomenon termed “criminalized survival.” I wanted to understand how common it was.