The reason lies within social media influences, reinforcement of gender roles, and men’s desire to get away with violence.

WORDS BY DIAMOND AGYEI
EDITED BY ELLIE LAWTON
PHOTOGRAPHY BY DARYN PAINTER

As I pushed open the heavy blue doors of my Virginia high school on November 9, 2016, I was greeted by a huddle of rowdy white boys in Make America Great Again (MAGA) winter gear gloating by their lockers. Beanies, sweaters, and scarves bounced all over their bodies despite the cozy indoors as they giggled, shook each other’s hands, and banged on lockers. 

A few classmates and I stopped standing for the pledge of allegiance that day. My science teacher read aloud a sappy article about what teachers should say to their students if Trump was elected. I spat back at classmates who reveled in his victory. Being forced to share stages and tables with white supremacists and having few options to separate myself from, let alone name, their violence was terrifying. 

Despite the gritty reality of being locked in a glass cage with baby Republican Juul fiends, my school was considered liberal because of its arts program (to many people—especially Southerners—this implies a generous attitude towards queerness), the predominant whiteness, and excess of windows. Throughout my high school years—which spanned from Trump’s election in 2016, to the final stretch of his second campaign in 2020—I became increasingly fierce in communicating my anti-white-supremacist politics. As the love for MAGA often manifests in isolating anti-Black and misogynistic violence, I was left with no choice but to defend myself. 

During my last year of high school, our principal visited every twelfth grade English class and spoke about all the fun things we could expect in our final year—provided we were well-tempered. He elaborated on his approach to enforcing the code of conduct on seniors by telling us the story of a boy who came to his previous school with a hunting rifle mounted in the back window of his pick-up. He explained that, since graduation was weeks away from the incident, he only suspended the boy for the rest of the year yet allowed him to graduate. But he couldn’t walk the stage, of course. 

The dominant narrative to justify the conservative voting choices of young men during the 2024 presidential election is that they are victims of misandry fueled by feminism. Growing up with young conservative—or more bluntly, white supremacist—men as my classmates, coworkers, and even family members, I am not surprised that 56 percent of young American men aged 18-29 voted for Trump in the election, because of how eager they are to worship powerful, violent men. I am also unsurprised that this was a 15 percent increase from 2020 (obviously, more Gen Zers can vote). But, I am upset that these votes make it clear that a majority of my male peers don’t care about giving a man who was found liable for sexual abuse in 2023 presidential power because they seek the same freedom from accountability. 

On the night of the 2024 election, the notorious Gen Z conservative Nick Fuentes posted on X, “Your body, my choice, forever.” Numbers of violent and misogynistic statements from young men skyrocketed in the days leading up to and following the 2024 election. Through these online attacks on women’s rights, conservative Gen Z men are expressing the desire to commit violence against women without repercussion, like all the other men who came before them. 

Conservative Gen Z men resent the fact that it is more difficult for reports of gender-based violence to go ignored and unpunished now than seventy, twenty, or even ten years ago. This is why the “manosphere”—podcasts, blogs, social media communities, and other online forums that promote cishet men affirming their gender identities through violent misogynist and capitalist means— is a popular form of community and knowledge-building for conservative men of all races and ages. These spaces allow them to spew bigoted rhetoric candidly without the possibility of pushback while also being perceived as the victims they believe they are by other manosphere followers. 

Patrick West, writing for The Spectator, said young men and boys find solace in the hypermasculine culture of the manosphere because “many boys, some without fathers or father figures, and raised in a culture that fails to impart positive masculine values, seek a haven where they aren’t constantly derided merely on behalf of their sex.” Niobe Way, a psychology professor at New York University echoed this sentiment, stating, “[young men] feel the voices in conservative politics don’t put them on the bottom of the hierarchy.” 

The manosphere opens young men up to embracing misogyny and potential grooming from perpetrators such as social media personality and former kickboxer Andrew Tate, who, alongside his brother Tristan, is currently under investigation in Romania for human trafficking. However, West argues that the manosphere is “a refuge for a culture that deprecates men and masculinity.” 

Young men and boys are engaging in misogynistic violence purportedly to seek safety from the impact of feminism, but rarely have I seen a man punished for committing gender-based violence that feminism seeks to destroy. 

The tale of misogynistic and sexually abusive men being granted and allowed to keep their political, social, and financial power is as old as time and is not a theme exclusive to Gen Z. From former governor of California and actor Arnold Schwarzenegger’s election after being accused of sexual abuse in 2003 to singer R. Kelly, who has also had sexual abuse allegations since the 90s but was only imprisoned for abuse in 2022, there are extensive examples from before Gen Z could fully understand and engage in misogyny where it was shielded from negative consequences and even rewarded. Therefore, I disagree with men like Patrick West and J.D. Vance who blame women’s independence for Gen Z men and boys’ desire to commit misogynistic violence. 

The tale of misogynistic and sexually abusive men being granted and/or allowed to keep their political, social, and/or financial power is as old as time and is not a theme exclusive to Gen Z. 

Matt Gaetz, Trump’s former 2024 cabinet Attorney General nominee, was offered the position in Trump’s administration despite being the subject of a years-long investigation by the Department of Justice for trafficking and sexually assaulting a teenage girl. While deeply disturbing, Gaetz’ nomination was unsurprising because patriarchy and white supremacy survives by rewarding violent men with more opportunities to be violent. Thankfully, Gaetz rejected the nomination, but his departure is not enough to feel comfortable considering the rest of Trump’s cabinet. 

Systemic and cultural misogyny has been under increased scrutiny since Trump’s first election due to the jarring pride that Trump, his cabinet, and his supporters seem to possess when it comes to their sexually violent, anti-woman behavior. This is not surprising, given that Trump won his first term one month after the infamous video of him stating the following was leaked by The Washington Post: “You can do anything. Grab them by the pussy.” 

Despite ample evidence to the contrary, a 2020 survey by the Public Religion Research Institute found that 50 percent of American men believe society “punishes men for acting like men.” As of 2023, nearly one in four Gen Z men said they experienced discrimination due to their gender identity, according to a study from the American Survey Center. However, Gen Z men are not living in a world less accepting of misogynistic violence than that of their fathers hers.

A political culture of white supremacist, patriarchal dominance runs through today’s far-right backlashes. White Gen Z women are not exempt either—the emergence of the ‘tradwife’ figure on social media, for example, reflects a current of reaction among young women, particularly white women. Trump may have lost the Gen Z women’s vote overall, but he made gains in that demographic in 2024 compared to 2020. Exit polls showed that the economy ranked as the most important issue among young voters, and 78 percent of those who chose it as the top issue voted for Trump. Trump’s promise to revive the U.S. economy may have been all bluster, but it was a vow that appealed to a growing number of anxious young people. 

Conservative Gen Zers bought into a fantasy that converts the rigidity of American conservative patriarchal roles into economic stability. 

When Trump was reelected in 2024, I was in my first semester of graduate school. A mixture of shock and exhaustion colored the sound of every room I was in. No one wanted to speak about him, to openly contemplate another four years’ worth of possibilities. Many of my peers wanted it to be known that they would be there to talk, even though they did not want to in those early, post-election moments. Conversation existed, but in another future. 

In recent years, I have seen more of my peers, most of whom are leftist women, who speak against violence in our smaller conversations, resigning themselves to silence in the world beyond our circles. I can understand why people feel defeated, knowing those rowdy teenage boys shouting for MAGA got the world they wanted without so much as a bruise on their knee while we bleed to change a country that grows on our losses. 

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Diamond Agyei is a poet who occasionally partakes in journalism. When not writing, she watches slashers and melodramas, rants on Instagram @unsettlng, and contributes as an editor on horrorgirl.space.