When policies clash with basic safety

A recent legal battle over who gets to use a women-only spa in Washington State has sparked heated debates about safety, privacy, and how far anti-discrimination laws should go. At the center of the dispute is Olympus Spa, a traditional Korean bathhouse that welcomes female customers—including teenagers as young as 13—into its nude relaxation areas. The spa has operated this way for generations, rooted in cultural and historical practices where sex-segregated bathhouses play a key role in communal well-being. So when a biological male who identifies as a woman was denied entry in 2020, the confrontation exposed deeper tensions: Can policies designed to protect gender identity override concerns about unwanted male nudity in intimate spaces? The conflict began when Caleb “Haven” Wilvich filed a complaint with the state, arguing that the spa’s female-only policy violated Washington’s anti-discrimination law, which includes gender identity as a protected class. The state agreed, forcing the spa to open its doors to all self-identified women, regardless of biology. But the spa’s owners, a Korean immigrant family with strong Christian beliefs, refused to comply. They sued the state on religious and free speech grounds, arguing that their right to run a business according to their values was being stripped away. Their legal fight reached the 9th Circuit Court of Appeals, where a panel of judges sided with the state in 2025. A rare request for a full-court review failed to gain enough support among the court’s 51 judges.Enter Judge Lawrence VanDyke, who took a bold step by writing a dissenting opinion that pulled no punches. He opened with blunt language: “This is a case about swinging ds. ” His point wasn’t just about shock value—it was to force a confrontation with the reality that women and girls, unclothed and vulnerable, could now be exposed to male anatomy in a space meant for their privacy. VanDyke tied the legal dispute to broader concerns about how policies on gender identity might inadvertently create loopholes for sexual predators. He pointed to cases like Darren Merager, a registered sex offender who exposed himself in a Los Angeles women’s spa after claiming he was transgender, only to be acquitted under California’s civil rights laws. To VanDyke, the message was clear: Washington’s law, as applied, could make female-only spaces legally defenseless. But VanDyke’s approach didn’t sit well with many of his colleagues. Dozens signed onto fiery rebukes, calling his language “vulgar barroom talk” that sullied the court’s decorum. They argued the real issue was anti-transgender discrimination, not the crude imagery VanDyke invoked. Yet critics like Elspeth Cypher, a retired judge and women’s rights leader, saw VanDyke’s bluntness as necessary. She argued that polite language has failed women for years, allowing policies to erode their protections without proper scrutiny. “You cannot defend women if you cannot define women, ” she stated bluntly. For her, VanDyke’s words weren’t a distraction—they were a wake-up call. Others, like attorney Kara Dansky, initially cringed at the profanity but later appreciated its shock value. She noted that feminist groups have spent years filing court briefs with calm, measured language—only to be ignored. VanDyke’s dissent might be the jolt the legal system needs. Whether that’s progress or a step too far remains hotly debated. What’s certain is that this case has forced a reckoning: When policies clash with fundamental safety concerns, whose rights take priority?