Do You Ever Stick Up for Me?

Tears of relief, frustration, hurt, anger, and comrade flowed as I listened to author Lindy West utter the vulnerable, powerful words, “Do you ever stick up for me?” in her essay, “Gear Swap.” They came unexpectedly and continued, warm and cathartic, as West described meeting with two male friends for their podcast in 2017. They sincerely wanted her advice on how to be better male allies post #MeToo. She considered using the academic jargon that often enters this type of discourse to explain how they could use their privilege to help dismantle systems of injustice and oppression. Unexpectedly, West found herself turning to the personal instead, vulnerably asking her friends,

“Do you ever stick up for me?”

As I type this and reflect back on the essay, I’m tearing up again. They’re not especially profound words, but they encapsulate so much of how I feel about feminist advocacy and male allies. We’re so often asked, “What can I do?” “How can I help?” “What is my job here?”

And it’s exhausting because, as West so wisely puts it,

“Sexism is a male invention. White supremacy is a white invention. Transphobia is a cisgender invention. So far, men have treated #MeToo like a bumbling dad in a detergent commercial: well-intentioned, but floundering, as though they are not the experts. You are the experts.”

More often than not, I believe men do know what to do. But they are not sure it’s worth the sacrifice. Being a feminist killjoy sucks. Not getting that it’s “just a joke” over and over isn’t fun. Refusing to let the little things go because all of the little things create the culture that allows the big things is a tiresome burden. It won’t win you friends, make you the life of the party, or secure your place in the patriarchal order. In fact, I promise it will threaten it.

I’m asking if you do it anyway.

“Gear Swap” is just one of West’s inspiring, gut-wrenching, and thought-provoking essays in her collection The Witches are Coming. It’s worth reading (or listening to) in its entirety as West uses her sharp wit. pointed critiques, and fearless writing to venture into these hard conversations in a way that is both refreshing and motivating. She isn’t afraid to lay out the real consequences of speaking up, from eye rolls, to losing friends, to becoming a feminist killjoy, to social ostracism, to bullying, to physical violence. She also doesn’t shy away from pointing out that,

“Coolness is a fierce disciplinarian. A result is that, for the most part, the only people weathering the consequences are the ones who don’t have the luxury of being quiet.”

And we’re exhausted, disheartened, afraid, angry, and it often feels as though our efforts don’t make an impact. But we don’t have the luxury of turning away, shutting it out, or pretending it doesn’t exist. The experts often do.

Many cis, white, LDS men do. And many of them are “good guys” who say they aren’t cool with sexism, who want things to be better for women, and who generally try their best not to be sexist.

But I guess what I’d ask many of them is this: Do you stick up for me?

And not just when it’s convenient or benefits you. I mean when it puts your reputation, relationships, authority, influence, even your perceived masculinity, at risk. When your spot in the exclusive club is threatened and you are not even sure if you’ll see the fruit of your labors in this lifetime.

Do you stick up for me in priesthood meetings when the women aren’t present, so men feel more comfortable relaxing and saying things they wouldn’t around women, criticize women, make generalizations or sexist comments about women, or exclude women from important decisions?

Do you stick up for me in groups where men share tired jokes about righteous missionaries earning pretty wives, women earning MRS degrees, and how women should be barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen?

Do you stick up for me when there are clear budgetary discrepancies for programs for men/women or boys/girls, even when some of the funds come out of the Bishop’s pocket because he is in the Young Men’s presidency?

Do you stick up for me when you go to the temple and persistently ask God for answers to questions that tear at my soul, like “Why don’t women have the priesthood?”

Do you stick up for me when people imply that I’m inactive because I want to sin or I’m lost and not because I have deep convictions and follow my conscience, despite painful, difficult consequences?

Do you stick up for me by calling out sexism and microagressions, even though it annoys people and earns you a bad reputation, and maybe even costs you opportunities?

Do you stick up for me by pushing against outdated lessons on modesty and chastity that shame women, sexualize girls, and teach boys and men to blame women for their immodest thoughts and actions?

Do you stick up for me, even when some women say they are happy with the status quo?

Do you stick up for me by advocating for the small, meaningful changes women have consistently shared over many years and that they say will have an important impact on LDS culture, perceptions of LDS women, and women’s experiences in the LDS Church?

Do you stick up for me with God by actively praying alongside me for answers about gender disparity until God can no longer doubt that we are ready for more revelation?

Do you do this even though you’re exhausted, disheartened, afraid, angry, and it often feels as though your efforts don’t make an impact?

Because this is what you can do.

Women are not keeping what they need to live in a better, safer, more respectful world (and church) a secret. But very little ever substantially changes. And it won’t change until men are willing to risk – really risk – to make the world better. Until men believe that the “good enough” in “good, better, best” is only good enough for (some) men. And that is never enough.

LDS apostle Dale Renlund even addressed gender disparity in the LDS Church at a women’s conference in Arcadia, California in March 2025, where he basically said, “We know there’s gender disparity. We don’t know why. Sorry it stinks. Don’t speculate. We will try to treat womenfolk better. Continue as before.”

(My synopsis is less than generous. You may want to read the original Salt Lake Tribune article directly.)

I read Renlund’s words with a great deal of eye rolling. Some will say – “Listen! They’re acknowledging gender disparity! They hear us!” My response: “So? What is he doing about it?”

Getting credit for doing the most basic, humane job of listening to and acknowledging the existence and needs of half of the population is not radical. And I’m tired of being told to celebrate every time the LDS patriarchy throws me a crumb.

I’ll celebrate when a prophet or apostle stands up and tells me that gender disparity keeps him up at night; that he is on his knees at every temple session begging God to relieve the LDS Church of the blight of sexist policies; that holding Priesthood keys without women fully holding them too in this life chips at his soul; that he risks reputation, relationships, authority, and influence every time he sticks up for women.

That he speaks up anyway.