I'm interested in the 4B movement. But wait—is it TERF-y?
Political lesbianism, I like. TERFs who use it for their aims, I do not.
Q:
I’ve heard about the 4B movement online, and I like the idea of decentering men. But I’ve also seen criticisms of the movement, saying that it’s gender essentialist, misandrist, and even TERF-y. Can you share your thoughts to help me organize my own? Is the 4B movement good or bad?
A:
This is the perfect time to unpack the 4B movement: With Trump’s re-election, questions about how the so-called man-o-sphere played a role in Gen Z men voting for him, and the disgusting trend of “Your Body, My Choice” (insert the throw-up emoji), lots of marginalized genders, and especially cis women, are curious about how to distance themselves from men and patriarchy.
And I love that people are asking themselves this question.
But is 4B the answer?
Let’s back up: The 4B movement started in South Korea in the 2010s as a call-to-action around four things to say no to (bi is a prefix indicating no in Korean, hence “4B”): no dating (biyeonae), no getting married to (bihon), no having sex with (bisekseu), and no having children with (bichulsan) men.
This is not terribly dissimilar to political lesbianism, which is an idea that came out of the Second Wave feminist movement, encouraging women of all sexual orientations to choose to dedicate their energy and labor to fellow women, which entails taking it away from men.
And I love this idea—to an extent.
I, myself, identify, in part, as a political lesbian. While I am oriented to have the capacity to be attracted to people of all genders, I’ve actively chosen only to pursue romantic, sexual, and platonic connections with marginalized genders. This came from an understanding within myself that (1) I tend to feel more expansive in queer relationship; (2) I experience a sense of “falling into” relationships with cis men, rather than actively desiring them as partners, due to my socialization to chase validation from them (hello, comphet!); and (3) I value using my energy to uplift people in my own (gendered and queer) community, and nothing seems to take more energy in my life than the domestic labor of partnership.
If you feel similarly and want to explore ways to decenter men in your life, reprioritize friendship as essential, and/or figure out how to queer date effectively, I’d love to talk to you about it. You can learn more about my one-on-one politicized relationship coaching here:
Here’s the problem: Both the 4B movement and political lesbianism were arguably founded upon (and continue to be pursued by) TERFs. (Yes, they literally ruin everything.)
“TERF” stands for “trans-exclusionary radical feminists.” TERFs don’t call themselves TERFs; they tend to call themselves “radical feminists” (or “radfems”). And rather than seeing themselves as trans-exclusionary, per se, they tend to think of themselves as making sacred and exclusionary the term woman. They believe that they are caping for the unique experiences of cis women. In reality, they look at gender in a very binary, essentialist way, denying the biological and social reality of gender expansiveness.
And this sucks.
Because feminism is awesome. And lesbianism is awesome. And finding personally fulfilling ways to push cisheteropatriarchy out of your life is awesome.
And it sucks when TERFs take an idea and soil it with their bullshit.
So if political lesbianism, the 4B movement, or even radical feminism feel like cool ideas to you, that’s badass. But it’s easy to fall into a TERF-infested rabbit hole when you look into them.
I’m a strong believer that we can’t let TERFs decide what language means – which is why I still use the phrase political lesbian to describe some of my experiences. Yes, that phrase is used by TERFs. But so is the phrase radical feminism. And I refuse to let them define our world.
But because it can be hard to differentiate between what you’re into (intersectional feminism! deprioritizing the oppressor! recentering marginalized community! lesbiansss!) from what you’re not (TERFs!) when you look into these ideas, I recommend staying away from Google and instead, exploring these ideas in community.
Here are some questions I would start with:
What draws me to the idea of decentering men? Is this something that would add to my life, or detract from it? Am I more interested in expanding my own joy or in punishing men?
Where do I find myself self-abandoning in the interest of men? For example, part of my practice of decentering men is not being quiet about what’s important to me (astrology, Chappell Roan) just because they’re present.
How has my socialization within cisheteropatriarchy impacted how I approach dating, relationship structures, marriage, family, and more?
What are some realistic ways that I could give men the backseat in my life? For example, if you’re married to one, do you have to divorce him? No! But if you’re bisexual and dating, you could exclude them from your swiping.
What are some ways that I could recenter and prioritize marginalized genders in my life? How would this change who I give energy to, what kind of media I consume, and how I present myself in the world?
You never have to align yourself with a movement or community that doesn’t feel right to you. But it makes sense that, as a feminist, you might find yourself curious about the ways that your socialization asks you to uplift your oppressor to the detriment of your community – and that you might want to move in a different direction.
So hell yes, introspection and baby steps! And hell no to communities run by TERFs and their harmful twisting of some potentially powerful ideas.
Want to talk about this more? I’m here for you! Schedule a 20-minute discovery call here, and we can chat about your goals and how I might be able to help.
In solidarity, always,
Melissa