“Feminism” is not the dirty word it once was. As a society, we’ve come a long way from dismissing it as the pet project of bra-burning man-haters. But even as feminism’s place in the mainstream is co-opted to sell everything from designer T-shirts to tampons, true feminist thought remains a site of rigorous contestation. This results from the fact that feminism attempts to address the rights, needs, and desires of some 3.7 billion humans whose concerns are every bit as diverse and complex as they are. Just as there is no one female experience, there is no one feminism.

And so, contemporary feminism demands not boilerplate solutions, but ongoing dialogue between all kinds of voices. We engage in that dialogue when we protest structures that oppress women, diversify our media consumption to hear new perspectives, or share our stories of harassment and abuse. Musicians participate in feminist discourse in their own ways—sometimes simply by giving voice to their own experiences, and sometimes by engaging with the words of others. We’ve assembled a list of eight songs that choose the latter route, sampling speeches and spoken-word performances by feminist thinkers. Of course, feminism is not just women’s work, and notably, many of the musicians doing the sampling on this list are male. What a relief it is, especially in a week like this one, to hear from men who deliberately carve out space for female voices.

This list is not exhaustive, nor is it perfectly inclusive. Noticeably absent are the voices of trans women and gender-nonconforming individuals, who are often left out of conversations about feminism even though they, too, are the victims of patriarchal pressures. Nonetheless, we’ve found these songs and the women that they celebrate—Peace Prize winners, dyke marchers, former first ladies, radical black activists, and more—to be thought provoking and inspiring.

Ibeyi’s “No Man Is Big Enough For My Arms” feat. Michelle Obama’s Trump rebuke (2017)

Hearing Donald Trump’s infamous “Access Hollywood” tape for the first time was, for me and for many, one of the most nauseating moments in an election cycle sullied by all manner of appalling rhetoric. The leaked audio of Trump blustering about sexual assault garnered condemnation from all sides, including an especially pointed response from then-First Lady Michelle Obama. “No Man Is Big Enough For My Arms,” from Ibeyi’s new album Ash, harnesses Obama’s remarks, made at a Clinton campaign event days after the tape surfaced. The French-Cuban twin duo of Lisa-Kaindé and Naomi Diaz treat the sampled speech as the backbone of the song, interspersing their own melodic cries of a titular phrase that recalls the words and spirit of Suzanne Mallouk, Basquiat’s partner. Obama’s appeal to young women, reminding them to “disregard anyone who demeans or devalues them,” rings out over thunderous applause; Lisa-Kaindé and Naomi hum their assent in harmony. In their hands, Obama’s words transform into a bona fide anthem, loudly affirming women’s strength as we take up the work, handed down from our mothers and their mothers and their mothers, of contending with regular attempts to undermine that strength. –Olivia Horn

Blood Orange’s “By Ourselves” feat. spoken-word poetry from Ashlee Haze (2016)

When Dev Hynes announced his 2016 album Freetown Sound, he posted on Instagram that it would be for those who have been “told they’re not BLACK enough, too BLACK, too QUEER, not QUEER the Right Way, the under appreciated.” The declaration made it all the more apt that he opened the album by lifting up black women—a group that, in our beautiful complexity, are hyper visible and yet actually unseen. On “By Ourselves,” a despondent chorus illustrates this disconnect: “Tell you what you're feeling/How could they know?/It's what they read.”

Piercing the somber song is poet Ashlee Haze’s “For Colored Girls,” named for Ntozake Shange's masterwork. Haze pays homage to the liberation she found in Missy Elliott’s existence, but she also reclaims feminism in a way that reflects her own existence. Her feminism is one that rocks a “throwback jersey, bamboo earrings, and a face beat for the gods,” one that defies respectability politics, one that doesn’t pit itself against other women and unlearns the art of apologizing. Where misogynoir leaves out black women and non-binary folks, Haze reiterates that there can be no solidarity with those who are not seen: “There are a million black girls just waiting to see someone who looks like them.” That line is like an across-the-room nod to the song’s overwhelming desire: to be known on our own terms, and to see the day when we no longer have to fight “all by ourselves.” –Briana Younger

Swet Shop Boys’ “No Fly List” feat. Malala Yousafzai’s Nobel Lecture (2016)

South Asian men exist at the intersection of racial oppression and gendered privilege. Aggression is unfairly assumed of them: white women are warned to be careful when traveling in India but rarely given the same advice about frat houses full of white bros. While white shooters are “lone wolves,” all brown men are organized terrorists. Of course, the racial oppression brown men face does not make them incapable of gendered violence. Desi women are regularly shamed and assaulted by men over their clothing choices, denied access to education, and expected to forgo careers for early marriage and childbearing.