Keeping Score: Supreme Court Blow to Voting Rights Will ‘Silence Our Voices’; Conservative Judges Try to Restrict Mifepristone; Moms Worry About Putting Food on the Table

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:
—The Supreme Court gutted the Voting Rights Act, slashing protections against racially discriminatory voting laws.
—A record high amount of books were censored from libraries in 2025, often due to LGBTQ characters or plotlines addressing racism.
—A third of moms living on low incomes have gone into debt or skipped meals so their kids could eat.
—Just 22 percent of American voters have significant confidence in the Supreme Court.
—In 2025 the number of abortions in the U.S. remained stable, but more patients in states with bans turned to telehealth services instead of traveling out of state.
—The Department of Justice announced plans to expand the use of the federal death penalty.
—An Epstein-Maxwell survivor, who asked to remain anonymous, laments, “I kept my identity protected as Jane Doe. I woke up one day with my name mentioned over 500 times. While the rich and powerful remain protected by redaction, my name was exposed to the world.”
—The Trump administration launched a Moms.gov site on Mother’s Day that refers pregnant people to unregulated crisis pregnancy centers.
—A Ms. piece on solitary confinement by Kwaneta Harris and her daughter Summer Knight won Kwaneta second place in the Collaboration category of the Stillwater Awards for prison journalism.
Liberation, a play about 1970s feminism by Bess Wohl, won the Pulitzer Prize for drama. It was also nominated for the Tony Award for Best Play. Wohl was inspired by her own life: Her mother, Lisa Cronin Wohl, was an early Ms. contributor.

… and more.

At Rikers, a Book Club Is Helping Women Imagine Life Beyond Bars

In 2024, comedian Nora Fried started the Rosebuds Reading Collective, a monthly book club for women incarcerated at Rikers Island, New York City’s island jail.

“I was looking forward to this all month,” Fried recalls multiple women telling her. “This is the only thing I had to look forward to.”

The women read Down the Drain, a memoir by actor Julia Fox. After the discussion, Fried tagged Fox on Instagram. Fox, whose brother was incarcerated at Rikers at the time, agreed to visit the group.

Fox learned that her book was a particularly hot commodity and that one woman’s copy had been stolen. Still, all were curious about how a girl like them had become a published author. The room resonated with laughter, from both the incarcerated women and the guards.

“It made me think to myself, I would do this every weekend. I want to come back. I love these girls,” Fox says. “They are amazing, remarkable, intelligent young women [who] made mistakes. We’ve all made mistakes. Some of us are lucky enough not to get caught.”

Inside the DC Jail Debate Team, Women Find Their Voice

“I know of a woman who spent most of her first prison sentence in isolation. She had no access to programs to help her heal from childhood trauma, abuse, neglect or depression,” Chelsee Wright wrote in remarks prepared for a February debate. “Without mental healthcare, she self-harmed and attempted suicide multiple times.”

Wright is part of the DC Jail Debate Team, founded in 2024 as the first coed team in the National Prison Debate League. Each semester, up to 20 participants—many without prior debate experience—meet twice a week inside the Washington, D.C., jail.

At a February debate on solitary confinement, Wright delivered her closing remarks: “When her release date was near, she intentionally assaulted officers. She needed more time.

“Three years later, she thought she was ready … but the outside world was intimidating. Now she’s back in jail on a charge that could have been avoided if she had healthier coping tools. Being home felt uncomfortable. You wouldn’t believe this, but solitary felt like home. Being controlled, degraded and caged was what she was used to. No human should feel this way—to the point where human contact is frightening.”

She paused for a few seconds, then added, “And by the way … the woman I just described is me.”

(This story is part of “Breaking the Cycle,” a three-part Ms. series on how women impacted by incarceration are building new futures—from education and job training, to debate teams and book clubs inside jails. Later this week: how women behind bars are finding their voices in public debate, and building community through literature.)

For Women Leaving Prison, Education Can Be a Way Out

Standing at the bottom of the steps at Tulane University, waiting for her name to be called, Stephanie King took a deep breath. At 63, after nearly three decades in prison, she was about to receive her college diploma—something she had never imagined possible.

For King, who left high school as a pregnant teenager and earned her GED while incarcerated, the moment marked more than a personal milestone. “I just wanted to walk across that stage,” she told me. But beneath that was a deeper realization: Education could be the way out of the cycles that had defined her life.

That belief drives programs like Operation Restoration’s partnership with Tulane, which brings college and job training opportunities to women inside and beyond prison walls. Founded by formerly incarcerated advocate Syrita Steib, the organization helps women build stability through education, employment and support systems often denied to them. The path is rarely easy—students face limited resources inside prison and steep barriers upon release—but again and again, women point to the same truth: Education offers not just opportunity, but a chance to rebuild their futures on their own terms.

(This story is part of “Breaking the Cycle,” a three-part Ms. series on how women impacted by incarceration are building new futures—from education and job training, to debate teams and book clubs inside jails. Later this week: how women behind bars are finding their voices in public debate, and building community through literature.)

For Many Incarcerated Women, the State Is Their Abuser

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.

What Iran’s Crackdown Looks Like From Inside: A Q&A With Nasrin Sotoudeh and Reza Khandan

Update on Apr. 2, 2026 at 3 p.m. PST: Last night, Iranian authorities arrested Nasrin in her home, confiscated her electronic devices, and took her to an unknown location. Amid the current war and a communication shutdown, she is under extreme vulnerability to life-threatening risks from the regime’s increasing persecution of activists as well as to airstrikes by the U.S. and Israel. Prison facilities have deteriorated under wartime conditions and are among the airstrike targets. Ms. has joined a number of organizations in calling for her immediate release.

As mass protests and a deadly crackdown grip Iran, human rights lawyer Nasrin Sotoudeh speaks from Tehran while her husband, activist Reza Khandan, calls in from Evin Prison—offering a rare, firsthand account of repression, resistance and the stakes for democracy inside the country.

“My message has always been to use all non-violent means to persuade governments to uphold democracy and human rights. Small actions can have big impacts.”

“… You can’t bomb a country into democracy.”

Menopause in Prison Is a Public Health Crisis We’re Ignoring

Speaking from a Texas prison, journalist Kwaneta Harris reveals how menopause is neglected and punished for those living under state control.

“You know what menopause looks like for most folks? Maybe some hot flashes at work, some joint pain and mood swings. Perhaps you adjust your thermostat frequently or get hormone therapy from your doctor.

“Now let me tell you what menopause looks like under state control. Imagine having a hot flash in a non air-conditioned cell with a recorded temperature of 119 degrees. The guards won’t let you have ice water. You’re bleeding through your state-issued white uniform because you had to beg an 18-year-old man-child for a pad this morning, and he said, ‘Maybe later.’ You get exactly five tampons a month, along with a handful of pads, if you’re lucky. Your hormones are all over the place, but there’s no hormone replacement therapy. Just Tylenol—if the guards remember.

“And here’s the kicker: They write you up for having an ‘attitude problem’ when you’re actually having hormone-induced mood swings from perimenopause. Those write-ups? They keep you from getting parole. So now you’re not just dealing with your biology changing, you’re trapped here longer because your biology is being criminalized.”

(This essay is part of the latest Women & Democracy installment, published in the middle of Black History Month, in partnership with Black Girls’ Guide to Surviving Menopause. Menopause is not only a physical transition—it is also cultural, social and political. Recognizing its full scope is essential to advancing true health and civic equity.)

Iranti Ẹ̀jẹ̀ and Menopausal Mapping: How Womanist Cartographies Make People Into Place

A Black feminist menopause convening in Durham reimagines “place” as something created by bodies and community—mapping care, memory and power across physical, digital and spiritual terrains often erased from mainstream menopause discourse.

(This essay is part of the latest Women & Democracy installment, published in the middle of Black History Month, in partnership with Black Girls’ Guide to Surviving Menopause. Menopause is not only a physical transition—it is also cultural, social and political. Recognizing its full scope is essential to advancing true health and civic equity.)

Massachusetts Could Be the Next State to Give Abuse Survivors a Pathway Out of Prison

In June, Karen Edwards testified via video from MCI Framingham, Massachusetts’ only women’s prison, where she is serving a sentence of 15 years to life for the death of her abusive husband. Speaking through tears, Edwards described years of isolation, surveillance and threats—how her husband controlled her movements, cut her off from loved ones and warned that if she left, he would kill her and her children. She urged legislators to pass the Massachusetts Survivors Act, a bill that would allow judges to reduce sentences or offer alternatives to incarceration when a person’s conviction is directly tied to their experience of abuse.

The proposed legislation mirrors resentencing reforms adopted in a handful of other states and could dramatically change Edwards’ future, potentially reducing her life sentence to a term she has already served. Advocates say the bill would offer a long-overdue pathway home for survivors whose actions were shaped by violence, coercion and survival.

As lawmakers consider the measure during the current legislative session, formerly incarcerated survivors and those still behind bars are watching closely—some, for the first time, allowing themselves to imagine a future beyond prison walls.

For Women Spending the Holidays in Prison or a Shelter, You Can Make a Difference

Women and girls are the fastest growing incarcerated population in the United States today. The women now in prison are often there because of circumstances that might have put you or me there, too. 

We at Ms. magazine want women in prison to know they are seen and valued. And because domestic violence shelters can be almost as isolating as prisons—and often lack reading material, just as many prisons do—we want to support women in those shelters, too. 

For a tax-deductible donation of just $30, you can help send Ms. to a woman in prison or a domestic violence shelter for a year. And for just $10 more ($40 total), you can get a year’s worth of Ms. for yourself as well.