As Caster Semenya recently ended her seven-year legal battle to compete as the woman she has always been, I was reminded of being in the Santiago, Chile airport in pre-COVID 2020, on my way to a weeklong trek across Patagonia National Park. Walking into a women’s restroom, I was accosted by a group of women shouting, “¡Es para mujeres!” This is for women!
I am a 5’10” cisgender woman. My hair was short at the time, and I was wearing baggy sweatpants and a sweatshirt. I am also Black. This was not the first time I had been mistaken for a man. Summoning the remnants of my high school Spanish, I shouted back, “¡Yo soy mujer!” I am a woman.
The global rise in transphobia has been tightly coupled with a rigid policing of womanhood and femininity, with calls from both right and left to protect the sanctity of women’s spaces. During last year’s Summer Olympics, Algerian boxer Imane Khelif became the target of vicious online attacks from prominent figures like J.K. Rowling, claiming she was a man and demanding she release her sex test results. In August, a cisgender Minnesota teenager was forced to reveal her breasts to a restaurant server trying to kick her out of a women’s restroom. And French president Emmanuel Macron and his wife Brigitte recently announced they would submit “scientific evidence” and pregnancy photos in response to allegations by rightwing influencer Candace Owens that Brigitte was born a man. These cases share a similar faulty assumption: that womanhood is a biological fact that can be proven or disproven.
Scientific reality is much more complicated. There are certainly male and female biological traits—XY vs XX chromosomes, genitalia, hormone levels—but plenty of women do not possess every “female” trait. Take female athletes who only discover their high testosterone or XY chromosomes (an intersex trait known as androgen insensitivity) after being subject to invasive competition-related medical testing. Many lived and competed their whole lives as women, had external female anatomy, and yet were accused of not being female enough. And what of other supposedly definitive female traits? Are women born without a uterus or women who undergo hysterectomies not female enough? What about those with small breasts or mastectomies, or those who are taller or more muscular than average? The reality is that there is no singular defining biological marker or threshold of womanhood. There is only the societal standard: Thin but curvy in the right places. Fertile. White.
Black and brown women have always had their gender policed and questioned to a higher degree than white women. It is a stereotype that goes back to slavery and colonialism, a justification for the horrific physical labor and violence that women of color were subjected to. Prominent cis Black women such as Michelle Obama and Megan Thee Stallion have been called men or trans and “not real women.” World Athletics has imposed targeted testosterone testing of “suspicious” female athletes – disproportionately women of color, of course – based in part on a since-corrected study showing a relationship between testosterone levels and performance in elite female athletes (the correction found no association). Women targeted by these rules, like runner Annet Negesa, were sometimes coerced into surgical interventions and hormone treatments that derailed their health and careers.
Attempts to enforce a gender binary are scientifically unsound and catastrophically harmful, so why are so many people, including women, so obsessed with trying? The claim is that such efforts protect women. But whom do we need protecting from? Why are trans women seen as a threat when they are even more in need of protection than cis women? Trans women in the U.S. are four times more likely to experience violent crime, with Black trans women at even higher risk. Furthermore, there is no link between trans-inclusive bathrooms and violence against women. In fact, trans-discriminatory bathroom policies put trans youth at higher risk for sexual assault. Meanwhile, while fearmongering about “men competing in women’s sports,” the U.S. administration continues its assault on women’s health, from unsupported claims about Tylenol during pregnancy to reviewing a perfectly safe abortion pill.
If we truly want to protect women, rather than policing who is a woman, we must demand justice for all women, healthcare for all women, and inclusion for all women. Cis athletes should defend the inclusion of trans athletes, following the lead of Simone Biles, who publicly criticized Riley Gaines for her mockery of trans women athletes. Rather than bowing to political pressure, the International Olympic Committee and other sports committees must eliminate testosterone testing for female athletes, as research shows no clear advantage for trans women or women with androgen insensitivity. (In fact, a 2024 study found that trans women athletes may actually be at a competitive disadvantage due to lower relative oxygen consumption and jump height compared to cis women.) World Athletics must abandon its recent misguided screening of female athletes for SRY, a sex-determining gene on the Y chromosome, being used as a marker for biological sex.
Beyond athletics, efforts like the “bathroom bill” signed into law last month by Texas Gov. Greg Abbott, which not only bars trans people from using bathrooms that align with their gender identity but also requires prisons to house inmates according to birth sex and excludes trans women from women’s domestic violence shelters, must be repealed. Donate to organizations like the ACLU that are leading the fight against such policies. Write to your local politicians asking them to vote against mounting legislative attacks on trans rights; donate to organizations like Trans Lifeline and The Trevor Project. Be an outspoken ally in your everyday life by challenging transphobic remarks and misinformation, using resources like this guide. Challenge the fear of women who do not appear feminine enough by asking yourself, “What even makes a woman?”
In 1851, speaking to the defeminization of Black women, Sojourner Truth famously asked, “Ain't I a woman?” To women everywhere, of all social and biological backgrounds, the answer must be a resounding yes.
Tania Fabo, MSc is an MD-PhD candidate in genetics at Stanford University, a Rhodes scholar, a Knight-Hennessy scholar, a Paul and Daisy Soros fellow, and a Public Voices fellow of The OpEd Project.












Demonstrators rally outside the U.S. Supreme Court as justices hear oral arguments on whether President Donald Trump can deny citizenship to children born to parents who are in the United States illegally or temporarily, on Capitol Hill, in Washington, Wednesday, April 1, 2026. (AP Photo/Mariam Zuhaib)
Luz Angela Nuñez with her daughter Aisha Quershi Nuñez at their home in College Point, Queens. Photo: Mia Anzalone for Documented.
Kimberly Alvarez, 25, with her daughter Evangeline and her husband John Alvarez in Medellin, Colombia. Photo courtesy of Kimberly Alvarez.Alvarez arrived in New York City in February 2024 with her husband John Alvarez as asylum seekers from Venezuela. In April 2025, Alvarez found out she was pregnant with her first child, a baby girl. Her first reaction, she said, was fear.“How am I going to keep her alive?” she said. “That’s what I was thinking. ‘How am I going to be able to take care of her?’”At the beginning of Alvarez’s pregnancy, she said she was aware of the immigration enforcement occurring around the country, but vowed not to let it deter her from showing up to her doctor’s appointments.“When you went out, you were always on alert because you didn’t know if [ICE] might be around. I never saw anything suspicious,” Alvarez said. “But of course, you feel scared.”In October, when Alvarez was six months pregnant, her husband was detained by ICE agents at 26 Federal Plaza. When the immediate shock wore off, she obsessively checked the Online Detainee Locator System to find out where her husband went. A day later, she discovered that he was being kept at Delaney Hall detention center in New Jersey. Alvarez quickly set up an account to pay for phone calls, and every two days, she would pay about $10 for a one-hour call, updating her husband about the baby, her appointments and how she was doing.“Crying was the only way for me to release the tension,” said Alvarez, who worried that her lack of sleep and bad diet were impacting her baby. “Crying was the only way for me to release the tension.”—Kimberly AlvarezThat tension built up day by day, week by week following her husband’s arrest. Alvarez had stopped her work as a cleaner in the neighborhood’s synagogues two weeks before her husband’s detention because of her pregnancy. The plan, she said, was to rely solely on his income as a maintenance worker for “the food, the rent, everything.” Left with few choices, Kimberley had to rely on her mother’s income as a cleaner. The older woman had moved to New York from North Carolina to assist with Alvarez’s pregnancy. “I feel like I’m supposed to help my mom, not the other way around,” Alvarez said. “I felt powerless because I couldn’t do anything.”On Dec. 9, Alvarez gave birth to a daughter, Evangeline. While her baby was healthy, Alvarez’s anxieties did not go away. While she returned to cleaning synagogues a few months after Evangeline’s birth to help make ends meet, Alvarez and her daughter rarely left home. Alvarez said she felt paralyzed, getting frequent alerts from a neighborhood WhatsApp group when ICE was spotted nearby. One day, she said, ICE arrested her friend’s husband in Sunset Park, in an area where she would sometimes take Evangeline for walks.“I’m so afraid that I’ll go out and run into one of them and that they’ll take her away from me,” Alvarez said. “That’s my biggest fear, that someone will take her away from me and I won’t know where my daughter is.”In March, her husband decided to voluntarily remove himself from the United States and move back to Colombia, where he is originally from. It was a family decision, but it was not a happy one — hiring immigration lawyers was too expensive, Alvarez said, adding that staying in the U.S. felt too uncertain. 








Sharice Davids, who is also Kansas’ first LGBTQ+ member of Congress, is in her fourth term. (Michael Brochstein/SIPA/AP)
Deb Haaland was the first Native American secretary of the Interior, and if elected in New Mexico this year, she would become the country’s first Native American woman governor. (Drew Angerer/Getty Images)