They say we are living through a war of the sexes, but if you pay attention, the war feels less like a revolution and more like a stage play. Lines scripted, roles rehearsed, outrage distributed like rations. People take sides as if humanity itself could be neatly split into blue and pink camps. Yet when you look closer, what emerges is not a natural struggle between men and women but something more artificial. A performance fed to us until we believe it is real.
We are told that men are dangerous, predatory, entitled. We are told that women are manipulative, hysterical, ungrateful. Both caricatures hang over our heads like storm clouds, demanding we pick a position on the battlefield. Neutrality is forbidden. Skepticism is suspect. Any attempt at nuance is branded as betrayal. To question the narrative is to risk being accused of sympathizing with the worst monsters of our society. So people retreat into silence, or worse, into slogans that aren’t theirs but feel safer to repeat than to doubt.
Every argument online plays out with mechanical precision. Someone posts a headline: “another act of abuse, another act of violence“. A chorus erupts, predictable and loud. Replies roll in like soldiers marching on cue.
Men defend themselves as a class.
Women defend themselves as a class.
Each side claims victimhood. Each side claims moral high ground. And in the noise, the actual victims, those who suffer abuse, betrayal and abandonment become props in a morality play designed for clicks.
It is a strange war where everyone is both fighter and captive. The man who grew up poor, raised by his mother, is told he must repent for the sins of patriarchy. The woman who works herself raw to provide for and nurture her children is told she has been brainwashed into domestic servitude. The details of individual lives are irrelevant. The script demands archetypes, not people.
This flattening of humanity into mascots of resentment is the most efficient form of control. Divide people at the deepest level (love, desire, intimacy), and you leave them isolated, suspicious, half-human. If you can make men afraid of women and women distrustful of men, you dissolve the bonds that sustain families, communities, friendships. What remains are lonely consumers, easy to manipulate, hungry for validation that can be sold back to them in the form of books, podcasts, dating apps, self-help gurus, therapists. A whole industry thrives on ensuring reconciliation never happens.
Walk through any bookstore. Shelves of titles scream about toxic men, manipulative women, how to “win” in relationships. As if the point of companionship were combat. As if love were a battlefield where your only options are victory or defeat. People read these manuals like bibles, repeating their incantations in conversation, weaponizing phrases against one another. A man criticizes his girlfriend and she fires back that he is “gaslighting” her. A woman asks her partner for help and he replies that she is “nagging.” Both draw on a lexicon mass-produced by culture industries, not grown out of their lived intimacy.
Meanwhile, corporations clap. Dating platforms profit from perpetual dissatisfaction, promising endless swipes toward someone better. Advertising sells empowerment to women through beauty products and to men through gym memberships. Politicians frame themselves as defenders of one sex against the tyranny of the other, promising protection while delivering nothing. And the media, always desperate for friction, highlights the most extreme voices, angry reddit Redpill men’s rights activists, furious radical feminists, and presents them as the authentic face of gender politics.
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The irony is that most people do not live their daily lives at war with the opposite sex. Couples fall in love, fight, reconcile. Families raise children with patience and exhaustion. Friends of different genders laugh together, share secrets, protect each other. These moments are unremarkable, and because they are unremarkable, they rarely trend on Twitter or dominate news cycles. Peace is invisible. Conflict is monetizable.
And yet, under constant bombardment, even ordinary people start internalizing suspicion. A man hesitates before offering to help a woman carry groceries, worried she will interpret the gesture as condescending. A woman second-guesses sharing her frustration at work, worried it will be dismissed as oversensitivity. Trust erodes in small increments, not from direct harm, but from the relentless suggestion that harm is always lurking.
In Zimbabwe, where survival itself often feels like an act of defiance, this imported war becomes even more grotesque. People live under crushing poverty, unemployment, a state that offers little but decay. And yet, even here, the slogans of the global gender war creep in, fracturing solidarity where it is most needed. Men, disempowered by an economy that cannot employ them, lash out in defense of dignity. Women, tired of carrying the weight of households, grow resentful. The conversation is framed not around shared struggle but around who is to blame. And when blame becomes the only language, solutions never materialize.
What makes this all so sinister is that the war is not being fought to be won. It is designed to be endless. Just enough anger to keep people divided. Just enough distrust to keep intimacy fragile. An unresolvable quarrel that bleeds into every aspect of life. Who benefits from that? Certainly not the people wasting energy arguing with strangers online. Not the couples who grow apart under the suspicion that they are adversaries. Not the children growing up watching their parents distrust each other.
The beneficiaries are those who sell division for a living. Media houses thrive on outrage. Politicians shore up power by promising to protect “their” gender against imagined threats. Corporations design products for lonely, anxious, atomized consumers. Therapists and coaches build careers out of patching wounds that culture itself keeps reopening. The very possibility of mutual understanding is treated as naïve, even dangerous, because it would undermine the machinery that runs on perpetual conflict.
The question that lingers is whether we are willing to keep playing this game. Whether men and women, exhausted from fighting battles that are not theirs, will notice the strings being pulled. It requires courage to step out of the script, to refuse to see the other sex as enemy, to treat people as individuals rather than avatars of collective guilt. It requires suspicion not of each other, but of the voices that benefit from keeping us suspicious.
Perhaps the most subversive act today is not anger but trust. Not warfare but cooperation. Not suspicion but a stubborn insistence that intimacy is still possible, even in a world determined to fracture it. Because when men and women actually talk to each other, live with each other, build together, the whole edifice of this manufactured war collapses.
So who benefits when men and women are constantly at odds? Those who need us distracted. Those who fear what solidarity could achieve. Those who profit from our distrust. The rest of us lose something irreplaceable: the chance to live with each other as human beings stumbling through the same difficult world, desperate for connection in a time that insists on keeping us apart.
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