Sex strikes: a feminist weapon against Trump-era misogyny or a trendy distraction?

On January 21, 2017, I joined over 100,000 people on the streets of San Francisco, many of whom were wearing pink pussy hats. Parents with children in tow had given their toddlers signs to hold – an adorable Latina girl in wellington boots held a pink sign that said ‘If You Build A Wall, I Will Grow Up And Knock It Down.’ A blue-eyed boy held a sign that simply said ‘I Don’t Like Bullies.’ In the rain, volunteers handed out snacks, bottled water and plastic ponchos, and I heard Spanish, French, German and Chinese being spoken throughout the diverse crowd, as well as seeing a few groups using sign language. Speakers spoke about needing to fight misogyny, racism, homophobia, transphobia and bigotry of all kinds, recognising the need for collective solidarity and action.

“We are participating in an organized resistance against forces that are actively trying to disempower and disenfranchise us,” said trans activist Julia Serano. “But what we are engaged in today is not identity politics. If it’s anything, it’s empathy politics.”

At 5pm that day, as the sun began to set, the lights on City Hall came on. They were bright pink – a sign that San Francisco was committed to supporting women.

The Women’s March in 2017 was the largest single-day protest in America’s history, with up to 4.6 million people participating across the country. It was sparked by rage and indignation that Donald Trump, a man who admitted to sexually assaulting women, had been elected. It was a day of anger and organising, and a determination to come together in solidarity and fight back against a racist, patriarchal system. The night Trump was elected, my flatmates and I cried, in fear, shock and despair. On the day of the Women’s March, we cried too – this time in anger and hope and collective empathy.

The Women’s March was the beginning of a movement across the U.S. and worldwide where women and allies pushed back against misogyny. Women’s fury at the normalisation of rape culture, upheld and perpetuated by a man who had been voted President despite being caught on tape admitting to sexually assaulting women, the #MeToo movement led to powerful and abusive men losing positions of power and large walkouts and public callouts causing corporations like McDonald’s, Google and Uber to have to address issues of sexism and sexual harassment. A historic number of women ran for office in the States. Laws were passed to protect abortion access and LGTBQ+ rights. Social movements like #SayHerName highlighted police brutality against Black women, and the epidemic of violence against trans women, especially trans women of colour, was highlighted.

In 2016, Donald Trump was elected President, and women chose to fight, together, politically and in the public sphere. In 2024, Donald Trump has been elected President again, and women are… goddamn exhausted. Even after getting a Democratic president elected in 2020, American women have had to watch as their reproductive rights were stripped away; attacks on the LGBTQ+ community and trans women escalated; the success of misogynistic influencers such as Joe Rogan, Jordan Peterson and Andrew Tate soared; and the normalisation of misogyny over the past few years resulted in a surge in online abuse against women immediately after the November election results were announced. A report from the Institute for Strategic Dialogue (ISD) has revealed a significant increase in digital hate and harassment directed at women following the U.S. presidential election. After Donald Trump’s victory over Vice President Kamala Harris, sexist comments such as “repeal the 19th [Amendment]” and “get back to the kitchen” surged across platforms like X, TikTok, Facebook, and Reddit. Many of these comments called for the reduction of women’s rights, while others included explicit threats of sexual assault and harassment. The phrase “Your body, my choice” – a direct counter to the reproductive justice movement’s “my body, my choice” – saw a staggering rise of over 4600 per cent on X. The phrase also gained traction in real life, with reports of boys chanting it at girls in schools.

After fighting for so long for basic respect, only to see such a vitriolic backlash to feminist progress, there’s an air of numbness, defeat and even despair among women in the States – and yes, anger. But this time around, at least among white, left-leaning women, there seems to be less energy for collective organising among marginalised groups. Instead, some are choosing to fight back privately, in their relationships and even sex lives, expressing interest in sex strikes and a version of Korea’s 4B movement – but what are the possibilities and limitations of a reaction that focuses on women’s individual relationships with men?

Women’s Rising Interest In 4B

After the election results, the phrase “your body, my choice” may have become disturbingly popular among misogynists online – but women’s online search interests revealed a sharp rise in interest in South Korea’s 4B movement – a radical feminist movement marked by a refusal to engage with men, sexually or romantically.

4B is shorthand for four Korean words that all start with bi-, or “no”: bihon, the refusal of heterosexual marriage; bichulsan, the refusal of childbirth; biyeonae, the refusal to date; and bisekseu is the rejection of heterosexual sexual relationships. The movement also has associations with refusing to adhere to patriarchal beauty standards, with many members eschewing make-up and shaving their heads. 4B is not a political movement, nor is it particularly organised – mainly spreading online, it is an individual ideological stance and a lifestyle for members.

The rise in American women’s interest in the 4B movement marks an obvious reaction to Trump’s second election, as women look for ways to respond to the misogynistic control they once again find themselves under. This expression in forms of resistance and women’s clear desire to change their interactions with men is understandable, and these feelings need an outlet – but as many feminists are now pointing out, blindly turning to the 4B movement is not the solution.

The Limitations Of The 4B Movement

South Korean society and Western society are not the same, and the cultural context in which the 4B movement grew is particular and nuanced, and cannot simply be adopted by American women. Korea has one of the highest gender wage gaps in the world, as women are systemically paid so much less than men in order to keep them financially dependent on their parents and then a partner, essentially coercing women to enter heteronormative relationships to financially survive. In South Korea, cases of femicide, intimate image abuse, and dating violence are widespread, with a 2016 survey by the Ministry of Gender Equality and Family finding that the incidence of intimate-partner violence was at 41.5%, a rate significantly higher than the global average of 30%. A surge in spy-cam sex crimes committed by men has also been excused and overlooked, normalising the sexual harassment of women.

Misogyny and the control of women’s bodies are upheld by the Korean government, which has blamed feminism for Korea’s declining birth rate and who released an online “National Birth Map”, showing the number of women of reproductive age in each municipality in order to illustrate what was expected of its female citizens – reproductive labour.

It’s against these systematic issues that the 4B movement rose in popularity, with members deciding that if dating, having sex with or marrying men was likely to result in gendered violence, bodily control, coercive expectations around reproduction and financial dependence on a man, then they were opting out of engaging with men entirely, and as an individual choice, fair enough. But when considered as a collective movement, 4B has issues that Western women should not want to emulate or repeat – and limitations that should viewed clearly.

The 4B movement has proven itself to be incredibly transphobic, with members being asked to verify the gender they were assigned at birth to even show their bodies on camera to prove they don’t have Adam’s apples or any other indicator that they could be trans. The 4B movement also has queer-erasing and homophobic messaging, ignoring the existence of queer and lesbian women who don’t desire sex with men and sometimes attacking lesbian women for supposedly diluting the power of 4B’s sex strikes. The 4B movement can be very controlling, expecting women to divest from all relationships with men, even familial, and women have found themselves criticised for wanting to maintain some beauty regimens. There’s a focus on individual economic success and independence rather than collective action which has an aura of capitalist ‘lean in’ feminism, where women who can afford to be financially independent are celebrated – and those who cannot are left behind.

This lack of intersectional thinking is not limited to class issues. South Korea is not a racially diverse country, and so the 4B movement lacks the explorations of race and ethnicity that have been embraced by intersectional feminism in the U.S., which means it is not transferrable to America, where acknowledging race, misogynoir and colonialism is vital – both in understanding why Kamala Harris was not elected, and to understand and address the specific combination of misogyny and racism that affect women of colour in the United States and that uphold the white supremacist attitudes that lie at the heart of the country – and that also led to 53% of white women in America voting for Trump. In a country literally built on racism and white practical supremacy, some white women will always align themselves on racial divides, and collective feminist movements need to address that.

But even if American or Western women don’t want to directly copy the 4B movement but simply take inspiration from it, could they simply institute a sex strike in their own lives to protest the recent rise in misogyny? And would it work?

The History Of Sex Strikes

Among the rise in online searches for the 4B movement, there was also been an increased interest in Lysistrata, the ancient Greek play written by satirist Aristophanes in 411 B.C. The comedy (which has been the inspiration for many films about sex strikes, including Spike Lee’s 2015 film Chi-Raq) focuses on the eponymous lead character and the campaign she organises amongst Greek women to withhold sex from their husbands until the men agree to end the Peloponnesian War. Though a satire, Lysistrata has become a bit of a trope in women’s activism – sometimes as a joke, sometimes as real collective action, as women withhold sex as a form of non-violent activism focused on achieving specific goals.

Writer Erin Tansimore has given an in-depth history of sex strikes, noting their success among indigenous Iroquois women in the 1600s; women in Barbacaos, Colombia in 2011; and perhaps most famously in Liberia in 2003 where Leymah Gbowee organised a well-publicised sex strike to end Liberia’s brutal civil war. As Tansimore writes, Christian women and Muslim women unified in their fight against violence and “the movement was about more than just the sex strike; it was a way to unite the women of Liberia together and utilize…moral clarity, persistence and [patience] to affect lasting change in their country.” Gbowee was later awarded a Nobel Peace Prize for her efforts.

But as Tanimore and many feminist scholars have noted, sex strikes are not uncomplicated, unproblematic, or even safe for everyone to participate in. The sex strikes that have been successful have taken place in the Global South in areas of extreme violent conflict – and can be and have been very dangerous for women to partake in, as backlashes of male violence occur. Critics of sex strikes have noted how they can actually reinforce harmful and oppressive gender roles and binaries. Sex strikes not only erase women’s own sexual desire but can also reduce women’s power to that of their bodies and the private, domestic sphere. Sex strikes also essentially ignore the existence of queer women, gay men and trans people and overlook their role in enacting change. The framing of sex strikes can also further marginalise sex workers and can make them targets for attack as they can be framed as undermining the strike and betraying the cause.

For many women, the idea of having their bodies, sexual lives and reproductive choices politicised and policed can itself feel controlling – particularly when women of colour are encouraged to participate in movements that are led by and mostly benefit white women. We should not overlook the power and agency of women who chose to engage in sex strikes and their role in history – but successful sex strikes have been very clear-eyed in their goals and are not without their complications.

Individual Choices Versus Collective Actions

The recent interest in sex strikes seems to be less focused on collective action and feels more related to other online social trends like “decentring men”, going “boysober” and intentional celibacy, which I wrote about for IMAGE earlier this year and which you can read here. As I wrote then, these smaller, more individualised movements are important, as “while some women are choosing celibacy as a political and cultural statement and some women are choosing it as an individual time of reflection and re-connecting with their own bodies and desires, we can all benefit from thinking about how our culture thinks about women’s sexual desire and pleasure, and how often it’s framed as being purely for men.”

I completely, unquestioningly support any women’s decision to stop dating or having sex with men – frankly, I think most women who date men would probably benefit hugely from a period of consciously decentring men and heteronormative romance so they can get in touch with what is actually good for them and what they actually want from life and relationships, independently of the narratives of what women “should” want from and endure in relationships with men. I also don’t think it’s the responsibility of all women to live in perfect accordance with the ideals of collective feminist liberation – first of all, it’s bloody complicated and different people hold different ideals, and secondly, thinking about collective feminist liberation can frankly be a privileged position. As the brilliant Amanda Montei observes about the criticism of young American women who are considering retreating from sex and relationships with men, “not every young woman today who feels disillusioned with men or political misogyny or dating culture or heterosexuality and its institutions has the tools of anti-capitalist critique or a robust facility with queer and feminist theory – or even the ability to imagine a utopian horizon. So, why has it been so hard to view these young women as potential allies in the fight?” As Montei rightly notes, we will always find reasons to criticise women, and dismissing individual women’s desire to alter their relationships with men as being an imperfect feminist tool is just another form of that.

But as Montei also notes, the limitations of the current trend towards intentional celibacy is, of course, limited: “Not all women will be safe because some refuse to have sex.”

To me, the difference between historical sex strikes, the 4B movement, and the current American trend towards decentring men is simply one of collective political action and personally enacted social trends. Both are important, both have limitations – and both raise vital questions about women’s needs and desires in their cultural moment and context.

The New, Low Bar For Men

Women in America – and other Western women who are experiencing similar misogynistic backlashes to the feminist movements of the past decade – are grappling with what it means to be in a relationship with men when a huge proportion of men and male culture seems to not only disrespect and devalue us, but deeply loathe us. The vitriol behind “your body, my choice”; the disgust and objectification of male influencers; the lack of care and tenderness and indeed increase in degradation and violence that underscores so many young women’s experience with dating and sex – it’s not just that a lot of men don’t respect women. A lot of men don’t even like us.

“Liking” people can be a tricky idea when discussing politics. It can create a framework where in order to gain respect or good treatment, one has to be “likeable”, making the respect conditional on how well someone adheres to ideas of how they “should” behave. Likeability for women has always been particularly tricky, based on ideas of traditional, unthreatening femininity. But that’s not what I’m talking about here – or not solely. I’m talking about general esteem, affection, interest and appreciation. I’m talking about men liking women not for what women offer to them or do for them or how comfortable we make them, but just as individuals who exist.

I’m talking about men who can’t compliment women on their individual attributes, but only on how women make their lives easier, like “she gets me”, “she’s so considerate”, “she’s so supportive.” I’m talking about men who say they respect their female partners but still let them do the majority of domestic and care work. I’m talking about men who deride women’s interests and who never voluntarily engage with the work of women writers, filmmakers, and artists. I’m talking about men in positions of power who still say “as a father of daughters” as if personally spawning a female child was the only way he could conceptualise women as human beings – and then expect to be hailed as a feminist icon. I’m talking about men who don’t have or want any women friends. Men who complain about their girlfriends and wives as if they’re being trapped into relationships.

A lot of men right now just don’t seem to like women very much.

In The Politics of Reality, Marilyn Frye writes “To say that straight men are heterosexual is only to say that they engage in sex (f*cking exclusively with the other sex, i.e., women). All or almost all of that which pertains to love, most straight men reserve exclusively for other men. The people whom they admire, respect, adore, revere, honour, whom they imitate, idolize, and form profound attachments to, whom they are willing to teach and from whom they are willing to learn, and whose respect, admiration, recognition, honour, reverence and love they desire… those are, overwhelmingly, other men. In their relations with women, what passes for respect is kindness, generosity or paternalism; what passes for honour is removal to the pedestal. From women, they want devotion, service and sex. Heterosexual male culture is homoerotic; it is man-loving.”

Increasingly in our culture, it’s clear that a lot of men love men, and barely even like women – yet women are expected to love men all the same.

And here’s the thing – I do love men. I love individual men, whose presence in my life enriches it enormously, and I love men generally. I love them so much that I am constantly fighting for them; fighting for them to be free from the confines of toxic masculinity and patriarchy, which damages them and restricts them and stops them from expressing themselves and impacts their mental health and relationships and leaves so many of them feeling devalued, isolated and trapped. I love straight men and I also love gay men, bi men, trans men, and I fight for their rights. I love men – and I like them. Not all of them, obviously. Some of them – like some women – are absolute melters. But I genuinely like them. And the ones I don’t like? I still fight for them too.

But so many of them simply don’t like women back, and won’t fight for us.

And I think that’s maybe the very basic, very low bar that women need to start taking very, very seriously when it comes to our relationships with men. Whether you want to decentre men or stop having sex with men or stay in relationships with men and maintain friendships with men, your choice is valid. But what if the collective withdrawal we all participated in is to stop engaging with, validating and being in any kind of relationship with men who don’t seem to like us very much.

The relative who rolls his eyes at any discussion of feminism. The lads who dismiss anything created by women or dismiss any activity, celebrity or phenomenon just because it has a largely female fanbase. The celebrities and influencers who make a living off making jokes at women’s expense, or by openly deriding them. The boyfriends and partners who only seem to like you for what you offer them. The husbands who don’t do their fair share because some part of them still believe it’s a woman’s job to raise children and clean the house. The situationship guy who is mean to you and doesn’t ask what you enjoy during sex and doesn’t seem to care about your thoughts or feelings. That one guy in the friend group who makes sexist “jokes” or harassed his ex-girlfriend, and all the other guys in the group who refuse to call him out. The men who vote for people who are ready to strip women’s rights away, “for economic reasons” or whatever justification they’re using that day. The leaders and politicians and bosses who only begrudgingly listen to and surround themselves with women instead of actually respecting, admiring or enjoying them. The men who don’t befriend women, enjoy women, listen to women, like women – but still feel entitled to women’s attention, admiration, sexual attention and love.

What if women simply withdrew their loving, sexual, social, political and relational attention from these men? No more coddling, no more understanding, no more enduring men who don’t like us. Of course, we’re going to have to still deal with misogynistic bosses, politicians, leaders – but what if we opt out wherever possible? What if we simply reserved our personal attention and energy for men who like us – and used our saved emotional energy to fight back against the ones who don’t?

It sounds simple, basic, obvious – but so many women are surrounded by men who do not like them, and are expected to maintain those relationships. I think it’s time we opted out. That’s not a collective action, it’s a personal choice, but it might give us more energy to fight for what’s needed.

It’s not erasing men from our lives – I don’t want to do that and don’t expect anyone to. I love men, as they are, and also as comrades in the fight against patriarchal rules that harm us all. But I’m done spending my time on men who don’t like women, let alone love them.
America and across the globe, women are experiencing a backlash against their human rights and a rise in misogyny. There are personal, individual decisions to be made about how to address this reality in our personal lives and how to tackle it politically. What if one helped the other? What if setting clear boundaries in our personal lives left us with a little more energy to focus on ourselves, each other, and the collective action we need to take next?

What if we shifted the current focus from strikes around sex to strikes around self-sacrifice and self-abnegation? What if we told girls and young women that they were free to have sex or not with whoever they wanted – but we also taught them, very clearly, that they should only want to surround themselves with and have sex with people who actually liked them?

Our bodies, our choice. But also our hearts, souls, energies, our choice. Let’s choose – very carefully, very discerningly, very basically. We choose our fellow women and the men who like us.

And together, we’ll fight back against the ones who don’t.