An important hallmark of the “Harvey effect” has been the massive role played by female solidarity. In fact, Dunham herself used Instagram to lament the prevalence of harassment in Hollywood and to direct people to the Times’s story about Weinstein. “If you agree (and I think you do) I hope you’ll share the story,” she wrote. As more women have read the accounts of others and shared their own, the number of those willing to come forward continues to grow, and demonstrations of support in the form of protests and hashtags have gone viral. While a culture that promotes more gender equality and tolerates less harassment and sexual violence is a goal that most can agree on, figuring out how to express solidarity for those ideals while wrestling with the flaws of these movements can be a much more complex calculation for women of color.

The rift is evident in just about every attempted demonstration of solidarity. Last month, a group of women chose to boycott Twitter for the day, a protest tied to the actress Rose McGowan’s account suspension. The #WomenBoycottTwitter plan called for all women to abandon the platform for a day, in solidarity with a woman ostensibly being silenced yet again. But some wondered, where were those same, broad calls for action when women of color have brought up concerns about about racism, misogyny, and suppression. In response to the boycott, the director Ava DuVernay asked white women to be aware of the conflict some women of color felt, given the lack of support they received when confronting these issues.

A movement of the same magnitude, for example, didn’t manifest when the comedian Leslie Jones was being relentlessly attacked on Twitter; or when the ESPN anchor Jemele Hill was suspended from her job after she tweeted that President Trump was a white supremacist and that those upset about threats to bench kneeling NFL players might consider protesting advertisers. As the author Roxane Gay put it, “Now people want to boycott twitter? Always interesting where and for whom people draw the line.” Meanwhile, during the Women’s March, women of color reported feeling conflicted about the demand for support for so-called “women’s issues” despite the fact that white women fail to show up in similar numbers to support causes that affect women of different races, such as police brutality. And the “Day Without a Woman” protests were criticized as being primarily targeted at affluent (and mostly white) women.

These examples underscore the importance of acknowledging the extremely different experiences of women in America. One need look no further than the 2016 election to understand that women are not a monolith. More than half of white women voted for Donald Trump. By contrast, more than 90 percent of black women, and more than two-thirds of Hispanic women, voted for Hillary Clinton. A majority of Asian American women also voted for Clinton. Political choices, of course, aren’t the only metric by which to judge the views and desires of groups—but they can give an indication of broad priorities. The 2016 election showed that, despite a shared gender, white women and women of color differ vastly on their top concerns.