Men, Stop Apologizing

More than half of men ages 18 to 29 voted to reelect Donald Trump over Kamala Harris as president, yet nearly all of the men in my social media feeds are posting their apologies to women. 

The social media I use is confined to Instagram, which I’ve deleted today, and the 39 men I follow there are mostly within a single demographic—100% are college educated (51% of them attend American University), and 98% are aged 18 to 25. Here, I make the total (informed) guess that at least 82% of them voted Democrat in this presidential election. By no means do I assert that the apologies from this small group mirror the sentiments of all men in the country. But I certainly assert that many men feel guilty, and rightfully so—they have knowingly endangered women, not to mention every other community that isn’t made up of white men. 

Call me a pessimistic feminist, but the men apologizing on November 6th irritated me to no end. In the social media sea that was political infographics, journalists expressing their shock, and women expressing their grief, anger, or both, the last thing I needed was men making notes-app apologies.

Such apologies represent a particular brand of performative activism that I’m sure we’re all too familiar with today. They follow a predictable template: express shock, acknowledge privilege, promise to do better. For the men who apologized to all women everywhere in light of the election results, I wonder where your energy was during Ms. Harris’ campaign. I wonder where your vocal opposition and ardent support of women was when it could have made a difference. I think these apologies serve as a form of social currency in progressive circles, a way to signal virtue without much meaningful action.

I find it frustrating that these apologies center male guilt rather than the female experience. How many menstruation cramp simulators will it take to make men understand? In trying to acknowledge their privilege, these men inadvertently make the moment about themselves. The equivalent of saying “Damn, that’s crazy” and rubbing their forehead takes up digital space that could be filled with the voices of women processing their genuine fear and anger, or with actionable resources that will help protect reproductive rights and civil liberties. Men who claim to understand the importance of amplifying marginalized voices, who may have genuinely voted to support those voices, end up drowning them out to express vapid remorse that will barely manifest in real life.

Some apologies read less like genuine accountability and more like a rush to distance themselves from the demographic statistics that implicate them, as if an Instagram story could exempt them from the collective responsibility of their gender. What is a single line reading “I’m sorry to all women”—the entirety of a real story post I saw on November 6th—going to do for me and my autonomy, Brad?

Retroactive apologies are unacceptable after the results of this election. 55% of men voted to make a multitude of institutions protecting women vulnerable to the whims of a racist and misogynistic man. Proactive engagement from here on out is vital. We need men who will have difficult conversations with their peers before an election, not after. We need allies who understand that true support often means stepping back and listening rather than performing guilt for social media likes. Real change happens through sustained action and engagement, particularly at the individual-level, not through the temporary catharsis of an Instagram story.

It’s important to note, here, that while I can speak to the feminine experience of watching male peers scramble to distance themselves from overwhelmingly male election results, I benefit from the very system I’m critiquing. The same white patriarchy that enables men to post hollow apologies on Instagram has historically privileged white women like myself over women of color. 55% of men voted for Trump, but so did 53% of white women. I cannot discuss male accountability without examining how white women have repeatedly aligned themselves with patriarchal power structures at the expense of intersectional feminism. 

I think men are in a difficult position, despite it being one of intense privilege: for a plethora of reasons, some feel like a pariah. (Somewhat scathing articles like this one don’t do much to alleviate that rejection.) It makes considerable sense that disaffected men would find comfort in the way Trump operates, particularly with his openness in calling his female opponent a “bitch” and, yes, a “cunt.” 

I just don’t think acknowledging male dissatisfaction requires embracing misogyny. Three in ten voters wanted “total upheaval in how the country is run.” The desire for change is understandable and felt by most, if not all, of us—but the solution isn’t to tear down the progress we’ve made toward equality. Instead of performing guilt on Instagram or swinging toward reactionary politics, there’s a middle path: engaging honestly with both privilege and pain, and working to build bridges rather than burning them.