Trigger Warning: This article contains references to child sexual abuse.
As Donald J. As Trump prepares to assume the presidency once again, we are confronted with the dark undercurrents of our country’s foundations. THE president-elect and several members of his cabinet Candidates have been accused of various forms of sexual harassment, ranging from harassment to assault. This is not surprising. It is not shocking that a man who was found responsible for sexual abuse in a civil court and has been accused of misconduct by several women, he would choose a cabinet with members facing similar accusations. What we see is not a departure from convention, but a revelation of the essence of America.
The United States was founded on violence – genocide against indigenous peoples and the enslavement of Africans. This violence was not only systemic but also gendered. Sexual violence is an enduring feature of the country’s identity, intricately woven into its fabric. Enslaved black women were treated as property, their bodies were exploited and abused, while indigenous women were brutally assaulted as a means of erasing their communities. These acts of violence were not random. they were central to the expansion and development of the nation.
The concept of sexual violence in America has been racialized since the beginning. Enslaved Black women were considered “unrushed”, a concept codified in decisions such as 1829; case State v. Mannwhich advocated the violent exploitation of enslaved persons as legal. Meanwhile, white women were seen as virtuous and in need of protection from hypersexual black men, as seen in cases such as Scottsboro Boys Trial of 1931 where nine black teenagers were falsely convicted of rape, fueling racial violence.
This precedent allowed white men to commit acts of violence without restraint, particularly against black women, such as 1944 attack on Recy Taylor, whose perpetrators faced no accountability. This dynamic served as a guide for future cases: White men went unpunished for acts of violence, particularly when those acts reinforced systems of race and racial hierarchy.
These historical dynamics resonate powerfully in the present.
Those who perpetuate the damage are actively elevated to positions of power. Trump has been accused of sexual harassment by about two dozen women and has faced minimal consequences. In response to these allegations, Trump called his accusers ‘horrible, horrible liars’ and considered the allegations part of a conspiracy against him, suggesting that the media and political opponents were trying to tarnish his reputation.
Among his cabinet, the complaints are equally troubling. Pete Hegseth, Trump’s pick for Secretary of Defense, was accused of sexual assault in 2017, allegations he denied before settling. Robert F. Kennedy Jr., who was tapped to lead the Department of Health and Human Services, has faced accusations of repeatedly groping a woman in the late 1990s. Last July, Kennedy addressed the allegationsstating, “I don’t remember this incident, but I sincerely apologize for anything I ever did that made you feel uncomfortable or anything I did or said that offended you or hurt your feelings.” Linda McMahon, who is expected to head the Department of Education, has been named in a lawsuit alleging she allowed the sexual abuse of children during her tenure at World Wrestling Entertainment. McMahon has denied the allegations.
This normalization of gender-based violence at the highest levels of government marks a dangerous tipping point. When harm is justified, minimized, or even embraced at the top of power in a system, it signals to survivors in general that their experiences do not matter and that those who do harm will not face consequences. Gender-based violence becomes an institutionalized norm, woven into the systems that govern our lives, as these leaders — accused of causing harm in their personal or professional lives — extend that harm on a larger scale.
When harm is justified, minimized, or even embraced at the top of power in a system, it signals to survivors in general that their experiences do not matter and that those who do harm will not face consequences.
We have already seen the devastating consequences of the erosion of reproductive rights under such leadership, including preventable deaths from unsafe abortions and the forced continuation of pregnancies under life-threatening conditions. These decisions highlight how personal patterns of harm translate into systemic policies that disproportionately affect women, particularly those from marginalized communities.
The Trump administration is a manifestation of this larger system that has always privileged white, male power. This was true in 2016 and will be true again in 2025. This is an opportunity to educate ourselves and others, not only about the individual acts of violence that make headlines but also about the structural forces that support them. By addressing the ways in which race, gender, and power intersect, we can move beyond simplistic narratives that contrast gender and race and begin to address the root causes of harm.
Too often, discussions of gender-based violence are silenced by discussions of racial and economic injustice. This obscures the reality that racial and gender-based violence are inseparable. The criminalization of black men has always been linked to the protection of white womanhood, while the violence suffered by black women has been largely ignored.
Indigenous women face astronomical rates of violence, yet their experiences are often relegated to the margins of mainstream feminist discourse. Framing gender-based violence as a universal issue, stripped of its racial dimensions, erases the vulnerabilities faced by women of color and perpetuates the myth that gender operates independently of other systems of oppression.
Life in the so-called Global North often fosters a false sense of moral superiority. Many of us believe that the existence of democratic institutions, access to education and technological advances mean that we are closer to liberation. However, the persistence of systemic violence and inequality within our borders tells a different story. Privilege exists in all white identities, regardless of gender or class.
It is the privilege to be seen as fully human, to have one’s pain acknowledged, and to navigate systems — legal, economic, or social — without fear of exploitation or harm. White privilege often means being able to walk into a room and be confident, to be heard and believed when you speak, or to have access to opportunities that others are systematically denied. Even in the face of patriarchy, whiteness offers these advantages, shielding individuals from the complex oppressions that people of color face. Recognizing this privilege is essential if we are to dismantle the systems that perpetuate inequality.
At the same time, there is an “elsewhere”—a world beyond the United States where people are organizing, resisting, and building alternative futures, as we have seen and been inspired by Bangladesh. These movements remind us that liberation is not a fixed destination, but an ongoing process, one that requires us to reckon with our complicity in systems of harm and to imagine new possibilities for justice and equality.
Despite the bleak realities of this moment, I remain optimistic. America has always been a paradox: a nation capable of great evil and great transformation. The same systems that have perpetuated violence can be dismantled and redesigned.
America has always been a paradox: a nation capable of great evil and great transformation. The same systems that have perpetuated violence can be dismantled and redesigned.
This is an invitation to think with me, to dream about what we are rather than what we are against. Only through our collective effort in community, with a shared commitment to wanting something more—something rooted in justice and liberation—can we begin to dismantle the deep-seated inequalities that are woven into America’s foundation.
We can envision a world where gender-based violence is no longer normalized, where racial hierarchies are broken down, and where all people have dignity and safety. To get there, we must start by telling the truth — about our history, our present, and the systems that shaped us. We must challenge ourselves to see the connections between race, gender, and power and address these intersections.
America has long been a muscle of change and transformation. This is our chance to turn it around — to turn this moment of reckoning into a movement for justice. Together, we can create a future where liberation is not an illusion but a reality, where harmful systems are replaced by ones that affirm our collective humanity. The work starts with us and starts on January 20th.
Kavita Mehra is a feminist and survivor of domestic, sexual, and workplace violence. She currently serves as its executive director Sakhi for South Asian Survivors and is co-founder and board member of South Asian SOAR. A proud New Jersey native, Mehra lives in Jersey City with her life partner and son.
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