'Your emergency is not my crisis': Why men are abandoning the fight against Trump

U.S. President Donald Trump gestures during a breakfast with Republican Senators at the White House in Washington, D.C., U.S. November 5, 2025. REUTERS/Kevin Lamarque

Anti-Trump activist groups across the country are facing an uncomfortable reality: the resistance to authoritarianism is overwhelmingly female, and organizers are struggling to figure out why men have largely checked out of the fight for democracy.

In a Brooklyn-based activist group that doubled in size since November 2024, women now comprise roughly 80% of participants, up from 65% during Trump's first term. The pattern is consistent nationwide. Research from Dana R. Fisher at American University shows that participants in "Resistance 2.0" are "predominantly white, highly-educated, female, and middle-aged." During Trump's first term, women made up 70% of participants and most leadership positions.

"If I see two other men's faces at one of my group's events, it feels like we've had a pretty good masculine turnout," said Saul Austerlitz, co-founder of his activist group and author of "How to Assemble an Activist."

The reasons for male absence vary. Some men have drifted toward Trump and the right. Others have burned out, overwhelmed by the relentless nature of democracy work. Still others have simply retreated into private life—work, family, hobbies—convinced that however bad things get, they will personally be fine.

"Underscoring all of these is a quiet belief held by some men—especially white men—that however bad things may get in the United States, they will personally remain OK," Austerlitz wrote. "Too many have a metaphorical sign up in their cubicles that reads 'Your Emergency Is Not My Crisis.'"

The gender imbalance creates a self-reinforcing cycle. The more women and non-binary people dominate activist spaces, the more men interpret those spaces as "not for them." Yet organizers say the stakes could not be higher. A pro-democracy majority requires broad participation across demographics.

"Making sure that 50% of the population plays a role in this fight is crucial to assembling a pro-democracy majority in a moment of unprecedented peril," Austerlitz argued. "We need everyone right now, and men are conspicuous in their absence."

Austerlitz and his co-leaders—six women—have begun targeting fathers of school-age children, reasoning that shared concern for their children's futures creates common ground. They have also begun hosting men-only organizing spaces: pizza, beer, and conversation about frustration with the state of the country.

The strategy appears modest but purposeful. Rather than trying to win back men who have already drifted away, organizers are focusing on men hovering at the edges—those shouting at screens and social media feeds but not yet taking action.

At a recent May Day picnic in Brooklyn's Prospect Park that evolved into an evening Shabbat dinner, more than 100 people participated, including 25 new members. For Austerlitz, the gathering—old friends and newcomers, seasoned organizers and fresh activists—offered a crucial reminder: building community is how democracy survives.

"If we want to triumph over the forces of authoritarianism, we will have to do it, painstakingly, one person at a time," he wrote. "Draft those invitations."

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