In the landscape of contemporary American activism, few organizations embody the contradictions of white liberal feminism as vividly as CodePink: Women for Peace. Founded in 2002 by a group of predominantly white, affluent women led by Medea Benjamin and Jodie Evans, CodePink positioned itself as a bold, feminist grassroots movement dedicated to ending U.S. wars and militarism while championing peace and human rights. With its signature pink attire and disruptive protests, the group quickly gained notoriety for confronting politicians, disrupting congressional hearings, and staging dramatic actions against American foreign policy, particularly in Iraq, Afghanistan, and later Gaza. On the surface, CodePink appears as a beacon of progressive resistance—a women’s collective challenging the patriarchal war machine of the United States. Yet beneath this performative veneer lies a deeper, more troubling pattern: a selective outrage that consistently spares authoritarian regimes from scrutiny while amplifying criticism of Western democracies. This selectivity is not mere oversight; it borders on complicity. CodePink’s actions and alliances reveal how certain strands of white liberal feminism, driven by privilege and ideological blind spots, can devolve into venality— a willingness to trade principled solidarity for personal acclaim, funding networks, or ideological convenience. In serving as unwitting (or perhaps witting) mouthpieces for oppressive governments in Iran, Syria, China, and elsewhere, CodePink exemplifies how privileged white women in the West can prioritize anti-American virtue signaling over genuine advocacy for the oppressed, particularly women suffering under non-Western authoritarianism. The roots of CodePink lie in the post-9/11 anti-war movement. Medea Benjamin, a veteran activist with a background in groups like Global Exchange, and Jodie Evans, a Hollywood producer and political fundraiser, gathered like-minded women to protest the impending Iraq War. Dressed in pink to symbolize femininity and peace, they marched on Washington, camped outside the White House, and vowed to "wage peace" through creative nonviolence. Their early actions were undeniably courageous: interrupting speeches by Bush administration officials, chaining themselves to fences, and drawing media attention to the human costs of U.S. interventionism. For many liberal women, especially white middle-class progressives seeking a feminist outlet for dissent, CodePink offered an empowering space to channel outrage against American imperialism. However, this outrage has always been strikingly asymmetrical. While CodePink has relentlessly targeted U.S. policies—protesting drone strikes, Guantanamo Bay, arms sales to Israel, and NATO expansion—it has shown remarkable restraint, even sympathy, toward regimes that commit far graver atrocities against their own people. This pattern raises fundamental questions about the authenticity of their feminism and the motivations driving their leadership. Is their activism truly about women’s rights and peace, or does it serve narrower ideological goals that align with the propaganda needs of authoritarian states? Consider CodePink’s engagements with Iran, a theocratic regime notorious for its systemic oppression of women. Over the years, the organization has organized multiple delegations to Tehran, where members—predominantly white American women—have complied with mandatory hijab laws by donning pink headscarves. These visits included meetings with high-level officials, including Foreign Minister Mohammad Javad Zarif, and public statements praising Iran’s "right to missile defense" or portraying the country as a victim of Western aggression. In one notable trip, participants described their experiences in glowing terms, highlighting cultural exchanges and downplaying the regime’s brutal enforcement of dress codes, which has led to the arrest, flogging, and even death of Iranian women resisting compulsory veiling. This behavior is particularly galling from a self-proclaimed feminist group. Iranian women have risked their lives in protests like the "Woman, Life, Freedom" movement, defying hijab laws and facing violent repression from the morality police. Yet CodePink’s delegates, hailing from a country where women enjoy freedoms unimaginable in Iran, chose to veil themselves voluntarily upon arrival, signaling submission to the very patriarchal controls they claim to oppose elsewhere. This act of cultural relativism—framed as "respect"—effectively normalizes oppression, providing propaganda value to the regime. Tehran has eagerly showcased these visits, using images of Western feminists in hijabs to counter accusations of misogyny. For white liberal women privileged enough to jet in and out of authoritarian capitals, such trips offer exotic adventure and moral posturing back home: "We engaged directly with the people!" But for Iranian women enduring acid attacks and imprisonment for removing their veils, it reeks of betrayal. CodePink’s defenders might argue that dialogue promotes peace and that criticizing Iran would play into U.S. hawkish narratives. Yet this excuse crumbles under scrutiny. The group has never mounted comparable protests against Iran’s gender apartheid, its funding of militias that terrorize women in Iraq and Yemen, or its execution of LGBTQ individuals. Instead, their activism reserves its fiercest energy for opposing sanctions on Iran—sanctions intended, in part, to pressure the regime on human rights. This selective blindness suggests not principled pacifism, but a hierarchy of concerns where anti-Americanism trumps solidarity with oppressed women of color. A similar dynamic played out in Syria. As Bashar al-Assad’s regime unleashed barrel bombs, chemical weapons, and torture on its civilian population during the civil war, CodePink focused almost exclusively on opposing U.S. intervention. They circulated petitions denying credible evidence of Assad’s sarin gas attacks, echoed regime talking points about "rebels" being terrorists, and warned against "regime change" wars. While acknowledging civilian suffering in abstract terms, the group rarely condemned Assad directly, instead framing the conflict as primarily driven by American imperialism. When Assad’s forces besieged cities like Aleppo, starving and bombing residents, CodePink’s response was muted compared to their vociferous campaigns against Israeli actions in Gaza. Some members even participated in delegations sympathetic to the regime, promoting narratives that downplayed government atrocities. Only after Assad’s fall in late 2024 did CodePink issue statements cautioning against foreign exploitation of the power vacuum—while still criticizing U.S., Israeli, and Turkish involvement more harshly than the decades of Baathist tyranny. This pattern of excusing or minimizing the crimes of anti-Western dictators while hyper-focusing on democratic flaws reveals a deep ideological bias. Perhaps the most damning example of CodePink’s alignment with authoritarian interests involves China. Here, the venality becomes tangible through personal and financial ties. Co-founder Jodie Evans is married to Neville Roy Singham, an American tech millionaire who has relocated to Shanghai and built a network funding progressive causes that align closely with Chinese Communist Party (CCP) propaganda. Singham’s operations have poured millions into outlets and groups that defend Beijing’s policies, deny human rights abuses, and oppose U.S. "containment" of China. CodePink has benefited from this network, adopting positions that mirror CCP lines with uncanny precision. The organization launched a "China Is Not Our Enemy" campaign, organizing trips to mainland China and Taiwan where participants concluded that "Taiwan is very much part of China"—echoing Beijing’s territorial claims. They have opposed U.S. arms sales to Taiwan, criticized coverage of Hong Kong protests as Western interference, and dismissed evidence of Uyghur genocide as exaggerated or fabricated. In one instance, Evans described Communist China as a "defender of the rights of small nations," ignoring the mass internment camps, forced labor, and cultural erasure inflicted on Muslim Uyghurs. These stances are not organic outgrowths of pacifism; they serve Beijing’s strategic interests by sowing division in the West and undermining solidarity with Chinese dissidents. For a feminist organization, the silence on Uyghur women subjected to forced sterilization and sexual violence is indefensible. Yet CodePink prioritizes anti-American framing, portraying U.S. concerns about China as warmongering while rarely addressing the CCP’s authoritarian controls over its own women—reproductive coercion, censorship of #MeToo activists, or surveillance state oppression. This alignment raises questions of venality in its purest form: corruption through self-interest. Singham’s funding network has supported CodePink-affiliated events and causes, providing resources that sustain the organization’s operations and leadership lifestyles. While CodePink denies direct CCP funding, the web of intermediaries and shared messaging suggests influence peddling. For white liberal women at the helm—enjoying book deals, speaking tours, and media attention—these ties offer sustained relevance in progressive circles, where criticizing China risks accusations of aligning with neoconservatives. This brings us to the broader critique of white liberal feminism embodied by CodePink. Predominantly led by privileged white women from comfortable backgrounds, the group exemplifies a performative activism that centers Western guilt and anti-imperialist rhetoric over universal human rights. White liberal feminists often engage in selective solidarity: fierce advocacy for marginalized groups when it critiques their own societies, but reluctance to confront oppression in non-white, non-Western contexts lest it smack of cultural imperialism. In CodePink’s case, this manifests as a feminism that weaponizes gender only against perceived enemies like the U.S. military or Israel, while extending olive branches to regimes that stone women for adultery or imprison them for driving. It’s a venal transaction: the emotional thrill of disruption and moral superiority at home, purchased at the cost of betraying sisters abroad. These women fly business class to Tehran or Beijing, pose for photos with officials, and return to acclaim from liberal audiences hungry for anti-American narratives. Meanwhile, actual victims—Mahsa Amini beaten to death for improper hijab, Uyghur women in camps, Syrian girls bombed in schools—receive lip service at best. This hypocrisy stems from intersecting privileges: whiteness shields them from the consequences of authoritarianism, while class affords mobility and safety. Their activism becomes a hobby, a brand, rather than a life-or-death commitment. In prioritizing ideological purity—anti-capitalism, anti-Zionism, multipolarity—they align with "resistance axes" that include some of the world’s worst oppressors. Authoritarian regimes exploit this: inviting Western feminists for photo-ops, funding sympathetic networks, and amplifying their voices to fracture Western consensus on human rights. The consequences are profound. By whitewashing or ignoring abuses in Iran, Syria, and China, CodePink undermines global feminist solidarity. It discourages genuine intersectional advocacy, where women’s rights are defended universally regardless of geopolitics. It also bolsters authoritarian propaganda, providing cover for regimes to claim Western critics are merely imperialist stooges while "progressive" voices vouch for their legitimacy. In the end, CodePink’s trajectory illustrates the perils of venal activism: how good intentions, filtered through privilege and ideology, can serve evil ends. White liberal women, seeking redemption from complicity in American power, often overcorrect into apologetics for its adversaries—no matter how tyrannical. True feminism demands consistency: outrage against oppression everywhere, not just where it flatters one’s worldview. Until groups like CodePink confront this, they remain less champions of peace than enablers of authoritarians, trading women’s dignity for ideological comfort.