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MenAreGood is a channel for men, boys, fathers, new fathers, grandfathers and women who want to learn about men and masculinity.  Are you tired of the false narrative of toxic masculinity?  Did you know there is a huge amount of research that shows the positive aspects of men, boys and fathers?  That is what we focus on here, being a source of good information and also a place to connect.   Join us!
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May 16, 2022
Excerpt from Janice Fiamengo's Sons of Feminism (part two)

part two

Sons of Feminism on Amazon https://amzn.to/3DLUxoc

The second re-education technique is to leave job ads open to male and female applicants, but include clauses that clearly favor a certain type of political activism. For example, astronomy job ads at the University of California routinely include the request for a "statement of contributions to diversity addressing contributions to diversity through research, teaching, and/or service." The assumption here is that my astronomy discoveries are more valuable if they contribute to diversity and other leftist causes. That apparently innocuous statement contains the same dangerous idea that science should be used to promote a certain ideology, just like physicists in Nazi Germany had to show their commitment to race theories, and Soviet scientists had to explain how their research promoted socialism. Personally, as an old-fashioned libertarian, I still believe that the purpose of astronomy is astronomy itself. None of the great discoveries in the history of astronomy were made by scientists with particular interest in diversity policies. Newton would not have been able to fill out a job application form at the University of California.

The third method used by astronomy institutions to correct for alleged unconscious gender bias is to introduce an even stronger, conscious bias in the opposite direction (the idea of using "good" discrimination to offset "bad" discrimination). Before telescope-time or grant application meetings, we are now commonly subjected to patronizing speeches by diversity figureheads, who remind us how important it is to be fair to female applicants, how we should think twice before rejecting their applications, and how we should be mindful of gender balance and role models in our selection. It is a low-level form of brainwashing. We know that if we select too many male applicants (even if we do it on merit) our choice and motives will be scrutinized, monitored, criticized. Instead, if we select a few more female applicants (even if not all on merit), we will be praised and left in peace. Most astronomers unsurprisingly choose the path of least resistance.

Sexual harassment

If you believe the hype of astro-feminists, our departments are rife with sexual assaults, bullying and violence. The gender imbalance in astronomy is the result of young women being too scared to venture into this ugly, violent, testosterone-dominated environment.

This is a nice, simple theory that gets parroted by every astronomer eager to show their progressive credentials; but is it consistent with the empirical data? Feminists in every faculty claim that (loosely defined) sexual assaults are rife in their own faculty; indeed, campuses as a whole are said to be in the grip of a rape culture. So, why would that (alleged) widespread violence deter women from doing astronomy but not other fields of studies where they are the majority? Moreover, "sexist" comments and workplace flirting are more tolerated in Latin cultures than in the Anglosphere: and yet, the fraction of women in astronomy is higher in Italy, Spain and Argentina than in the more diversity-obsessed Canada, USA, Australia, and Sweden.

I am not saying that sexual harassment never happens in astronomy. There have been a few highly publicized cases of famous male professors flirting or having inappropriate relations with young postdocs or students, and such professors have been duly shamed and harshly punished. I have seen other senior male astronomers having similar relations and getting away with that. I have also seen female students and postdocs who have been happy to flirt with senior male professors and whose careers have benefited from such interactions (but I would be lynched if I said that in public). And I know of senior female professors who entered into relationships with younger male postdocs while nobody complained. In short, inappropriate sexual relations and unwanted flirting do happen sometimes, creating stress in the work environment, but it is not a crisis, it is not worse than in any other human field, and it is not the reason why there are fewer women than men in astronomy. It has been manufactured into a crisis by special interest groups who try to depict women as perennial helpless victims to be protected and compensated, and men as perennial creepy aggressors to be shamed and punished. The Women in Astronomy blog (widely re-tweeted and shared through social media) has become similar to the Red Guards' Dazebaos during the Cultural Revolution. As a male, I could be anonymously accused of sexual harassment on that blog without a shred of evidence, and my career would be over in a frenzy of online lynching before I had a chance to defend myself. No wonder we all choose to toe the line in public.

Other reasons for gender imbalance

If, as I have argued, sexual harassment is not the reason for a relative scarcity of women in astronomy, what are the true causes? One possibility we need to at least consider is that male brains are better at the higher levels of theoretical physics and maths. I saw first-hand what happened to Harvard University president Lawrence Summers when he suggested such a possibility (I was there at the time), and it was not pretty. In fact, I do not believe that a gap in innate intelligence is the main reason for the gender imbalance. Most types of astronomical research do not require special intelligence or mathematical skills higher than, for example, in biological or health sciences. I suspect the main factor is the hard lifestyle required for a professional career in astronomy. It is often a lonely research pursuit, with a lot of online work in front of a terminal rather than verbal inter-personal communication. It requires working long hours, evenings and weekends. Postdocs have to relocate and move around different countries for a decade (while in their 30s) before they can start competing for tenure-track jobs. More guys than girls enjoy or reluctantly come to accept this lifestyle; it is particularly hard for women who want to have children. The willingness to work longer hours or weekends on short notice is also the main reason behind the so-called "gender pay gap" in other sectors of the economy.

Is it fair?

My colleagues and I were recently pressured to attend a rather patronizing lecture on work-life balance at our University. The speaker was a young female astronomer hired into a women-only fellowship for which she was the only applicant. She argued that in order to narrow the gender balance, astronomy departments should not schedule meetings and seminars after 4pm or before 10am, because such times would be particularly inconvenient for women with children. There should also be restrictions on working long hours and weekends, and in any case people (mostly women) who choose to work shorter hours should not be penalized on the job market compared to those (mostly men) who work longer hours. What I would have liked to reply to her (if I had a suicidal wish) is that it is easy to say so when you have protected jobs with more positions available than applicants. But as a male astronomer, I have to compete with ten other equally desperate people to get a job, and I have to work unsociable hours to survive.

Is it fair that more astronomy jobs and perhaps higher salaries go to people who work longer hours and make more sacrifices in their private lives (which statistically happen to be mostly men)? By analogy, is it fair that all the players selected for our national football team are people who train several hours a day every day rather than people who only have a kick-around on a Sunday morning? Has anyone realized that by selecting only workaholics, our team is missing out on the experience of a diverse group of people and lifestyles and is not representative of the general population? Surely, our team would be twice as good if half of the players were selected based on football skills and the other half on diversity criteria.

Check your privilege

Shaming guys for their "privilege" has become an obsession of SJWs in astronomy, who are aping similar trends in the humanities. At a recent important astronomy conference, we were lectured by a "senior diversity officer" of the host university, who gave the opening plenary speech on what he called the "white heterosexual Anglo-Christian cisgender male privilege in astronomy.” After reminding us how we male astronomers cannot even begin to understand the constant state of fear felt by women and people of color in astronomy departments every day, the diversity officer instructed the audience to pair up in male-female couples. Each couple was told to read, acknowledge and discuss a list of "29 white male privileges.” A few male astronomers randomly picked from the audience were then asked to stand up and publicly confess instances of their privilege. It all looked straight out of a Maoist textbook. And yet, some male astronomers enjoyed being shamed like that. Nothing gives more pleasure to committed leftist academics than to openly proclaim their shame for their own gender, social class, religion, skin color and nationality, because feeling ashamed is a sign of moral superiority, in the same way that whipping themselves and wearing hair shirts make some ascetic monks feel closer to God.

Conclusions

There are now clearly two streams of astronomy careers. The first stream is based on hard work, and leads to merit-based appointments for whoever (male or female) is prepared to accept the asocial research lifestyle. Luck and chance factors play of course a big part in determining the outcome of job applications, but usually not deliberate discrimination. The second stream leads to fast-track tenured positions with much less competition for those who are willing and able to play the grievance card on behalf of their officially recognized victim group. Some astronomers still spend most of their time researching and monitoring the sky; others instead spend most of their time researching and monitoring gender balance within astronomy departments, setting up equity-and-diversity committees, writing 200-page reports on discrimination, conferring awards to themselves for their social-justice work, making up new types of privileges, and running blogs full of political propaganda. Unfortunately, funding is shrinking for the former class of astronomers like me, and is ever-expanding for the latter. We can predict with Newtonian certainty that the outcome of every diversity committee, the recommendation of every inclusion report, is that discrimination is "worse than we thought,” the new women-only jobs or initiatives are "only a first step," and "Much more has to be done.”

Facing the corruption of a profession I love, an old-fashioned astronomer like me can only do small acts of passive resistance. I am not in a career position where I can express open dissent with the Women-in-Astronomy gang and their socio-political theories. I have seen illustrious scientists (remember comet explorer Matt Taylor or Nobel Prize winner Tim Hunt) being brought down by a frenzy of online bullying without any intervention in their defense from their own department or faculty. Kill one to warn one hundred, as Mao said: it is ugly, but of course it works. There is no easy solution: in the current situation, leftist views totally dominate the campus discourse. Things will only get worse for merit-based rewards and for free speech in general, unless political diversity is pursued in our campuses with the same determination as gender and ethnic diversity.

Sons of Feminism on Amazon https://amzn.to/3DLUxoc

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September 10, 2025
Diary of a CEO's Debate on Feminism: Our Response

This video will be presented in two parts and is a joint venture between MenAreGood and Hannah Spier’s Psychobabble. Hannah’s standard approach is to make the first half free for everyone, with the second half reserved for paid subscribers. To align with her process, I’m setting aside my usual practice of making all new posts free and following the same format for this release.


Janice Fiamengo, Hannah Spier, and Tom Golden respond to a YouTube video on The Diary of a CEO channel, which features three feminists debating the question: “Has modern feminism betrayed the very women it promised to empower?”In their response, Hannah, Janice, and Tom have a lively discussion, highlighting inconsistencies, omissions, and a variety of other notable observations.

Men Are Good

00:36:02
August 20, 2025
Meet TheTinMen

In this conversation, I sit down with George from The Tin Men—a powerful voice bringing clarity, humor, and hard-hitting truth to men’s issues. George has a unique talent for condensing complex topics like male loneliness, the dismantling of men’s spaces, suicide, and the gender pay gap into short, sharp, and digestible messages. Together, we react to some of his videos and dive into everything from fatherlessness and gangs, to the “man vs. bear” debate, to the failures of therapy for men, and even the overlooked crisis of suicide in construction. It’s a wide-ranging discussion that highlights both the challenges men face and the hope we’re starting to see for real change.

Georges Links!

Instagram — https://www.instagram.com/thetinmen/

Youtube — https://www.youtube.com/@TheTinMenBlog

LinkedIn — https://www.linkedin.com/in/gohorne/

X— https://x.com/TheTinMenBlog

Tom's post about 15 things Maryland can do for boys and men.
...

01:04:30
August 07, 2025
Are Men Great of Good? Yes!

Time for a male-positive message. I created this video a while back, but its message remains as important and timeless as ever. I’d love for it to reach boys who’ve been told—explicitly or implicitly—that there’s something wrong with being male. After so much negativity about men and masculinity, they need to hear something different. They need to hear something true, strong, and affirming.

00:04:59
February 07, 2023
The Way Boys Play and the Biological Underpinnings

My apologies for the last empty post. My mistake. Let's hope this one works.

Tom takes a stab at using the podcast function. Let's see how it goes.

The Way Boys Play and the Biological Underpinnings
May 13, 2022
Boys and Rough Play

This is a short excerpt from Helping Mothers be Closer to their Sons. The book was meant for single mothers who really don't know much about boy's nature. They also don't have a man in the house who can stand up for the boy and his unique nature. It tries to give them some ideas about how boys and girls are different. This excerpt is about play behaviors.

Boys and Rough Play

The Best, effective and clearest video on this subject I ever seen! Every man and boy should watch and learn.
10 out of 10!!!
A Absalutly must watch!!!

Another great video from Gabby on how Radical Feminism dehumanizes Men. And she showed a pic of Paul Elam and Tom Golden with others. As people trying to humanize and help men.

Worth a watch

August 04, 2025
False Accuser Exposed in World Junior Hockey Trial Verdict - Janice Fiamengo

Janices essay brings to life the idea that when falsely accused men are found not guilty they still lose. Worse yet, the false accuser reaps benefits. Thank you Janice for pulling this informative and infuriating piece together. Men Are Good.

https://fiamengofile.substack.com/cp/170141035

September 15, 2025
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Male Suicide: Finland Acted, America Shrugs,
Part 3 - Finland’s Legacy — Lessons for the World


Finland’s Legacy — Lessons for the World

Post 3 in a series on what the world can learn from Finland’s suicide prevention efforts


In the first two posts of this series, we traced Finland’s extraordinary journey: from confronting its suicide crisis head-on with unprecedented research, to building a nationwide prevention strategy that saved lives and changed culture. (plus an intro post)

By the mid-1990s, the results were visible. Suicide rates, which had climbed for decades, had finally begun to fall. Hunters were talking to their mates about mental health. Army officers were watching out for vulnerable conscripts. Teachers, clergy, and even journalists had taken on new roles in prevention.

But Finland didn’t stop there. They did something few governments ever do: they invited outsiders in to judge their work.


The External Evaluation (1999)

In 1999, an international team of experts released their assessment of Finland’s National Suicide Prevention Project. Their job was not to pat Finland on the back, but to weigh the evidence: had the ten-year gamble worked?

The answer was a resounding yes.

The reviewers noted that suicide rates had fallen by about 20% from their 1990 peak, reversing what had seemed an unstoppable upward trend. They praised Finland’s creativity and breadth: more than 40 subprogrammes, dozens of guidebooks and training manuals, and a public conversation that no longer treated suicide as taboo.

They were candid about shortcomings. The elderly had been largely overlooked. Firearm restrictions — an obvious lever in a country where hunting rifles were common — had not been seriously addressed. And some of the project’s ideas had not been fully anchored in municipal governments, raising questions about long-term sustainability.

But the overall conclusion was clear: “The achievements of the project greatly outweighed its shortcomings.”

For the first time in history, a country had launched a research-based, nationwide suicide prevention program, implemented it across society, and then subjected it to systematic internal and external evaluation. Finland hadn’t just lowered its suicide rate. It had created a model the rest of the world could learn from.


The Nordic Ripple Effect

Finland may have been the first to take suicide prevention to this scale, but it didn’t remain alone for long. Its bold experiment caught the attention of its Nordic neighbors.

By the early 2000s, Norway, Sweden, Denmark, and Iceland had all developed their own national suicide prevention strategies. Each looked different, shaped by local politics and culture, but the family resemblance was clear:

  • Multisectoral involvement — bringing schools, healthcare, media, and workplaces into the effort.

  • Government backing — strategies tied to official health policy, not just isolated projects.

  • Focus on high-risk groups — men, youth, those with mental illness or substance use issues.

  • Community-level adaptation — prevention designed to fit local contexts.

This Nordic wave turned suicide prevention from a fringe idea into a mainstream policy goal. Finland’s willingness to declare suicide a preventable public health problem gave other countries the courage to do the same.

And while no nation copied Finland exactly, the influence was unmistakable. What began as one country’s desperate attempt to save its men became a regional movement — and, eventually, part of a global shift in how we think about suicide.


Beyond Suicide — Open Dialogue

While the National Suicide Prevention Project was reshaping public health, another Finnish innovation was quietly revolutionizing psychiatric care. It was called Open Dialogue, and it began in the remote region of Western Lapland in the 1980s.

Open Dialogue grew out of the same spirit that drove Finland’s suicide work: the belief that mental health crises should be faced directly, in context, with honesty and community. Instead of isolating patients in institutions, Open Dialogue brought treatment into their living rooms, with their families and friends present.

Its core principles were deceptively simple:

  • Immediate response — no long waits for care.

  • Include the social network — every meeting included family and close supporters.

  • Transparency — no secret discussions; all decisions were made in front of the patient.

  • Continuity — the same care team stayed with the person throughout.

The results were extraordinary. In Western Lapland, outcomes for psychosis — one of the most severe and stigmatized mental health conditions — improved dramatically. Hospitalization rates plummeted. Long-term disability dropped. Many people recovered fully, without lifelong medication. And suicide risk, so often bound up with psychotic crises, declined as well.

Open Dialogue was not designed as a suicide prevention program, but it turned out to be one. By treating people with dignity, involving their communities, and responding quickly in moments of despair, it reduced the very conditions that so often lead to suicide.

Over the years, Open Dialogue spread far beyond Finland. Today, it has inspired projects in 20+ countries, from the UK and Denmark to Italy, Australia, and the United States. In Boston and Atlanta, pilot trials are exploring how it might transform American mental health care.

If Finland’s suicide prevention project showed how to mobilize whole societies, Open Dialogue showed how to humanize psychiatric care. Together, they represented a double legacy: a country rethinking both the prevention of suicide and the treatment of mental illness itself.


The Contrast with the United States

Set Finland’s story alongside that of the United States, and the difference is almost painful to see.

In Finland, suicide was treated as a national emergency. The government gathered data on every case, identified high-risk groups, and then designed interventions that met people where they were — in hunting clubs, army barracks, schools, and village churches. Prevention became everyone’s business: teachers, clergy, journalists, even hunters were mobilized. Men were not ignored; they were named as a priority.

In the United States, by contrast, suicide prevention remains fragmented and underfunded. National data are often shallow, slow, and rarely translated into targeted local strategies. Middle-aged men in rural areas — the group most likely to die by suicide — are treated as a tragic inevitability rather than a challenge to be solved. The refrain is familiar: “men won’t seek help.” And then the conversation stops.

Where Finland built systems that carried help into the everyday lives of men, the U.S. still waits for men to find their way into psychiatric clinics — a threshold many will never cross. Instead of designing support around real lives and communities, America has largely outsourced suicide prevention to crisis hotlines and awareness slogans.

The contrast is not just policy. It is philosophy. Finland chose to look directly at suicide, however uncomfortable, and act with precision. The U.S. continues to look away, resigned to the loss of tens of thousands of men each year.


What the World Can Learn Today

Finland’s story carries a message the world can no longer afford to ignore: suicide is not inevitable. It responds to culture, to policy, and to whether a society is willing to face hard truths.

The lessons are clear:

  1. Do the research. Prevention begins with knowing who is dying, where, and why. Finland’s psychological autopsy study remains a gold standard for how to understand suicide in context.

  2. Tailor interventions. Generic slogans don’t save lives. Finland designed specific responses for hunters, soldiers, farmers, drinkers, and suicide attempters.

  3. Use whole communities. Suicide prevention is not just for psychiatrists. Teachers, clergy, journalists, co-workers, and peers can all play a role.

  4. Address men directly. Male suicide is not an afterthought; it is central. Finland dared to say so, and designed interventions with men in mind.

  5. Sustain the effort. Short-term projects can spark change, but long-term structures anchor it. That remains one of Finland’s unfinished tasks — and one of the biggest lessons for others.

For the United States — and for every country still wringing its hands over “men not seeking help” — Finland offers a blueprint. You don’t wait for men to come to you. You go to them. Into their workplaces, their social clubs, their barracks, their communities. You make prevention part of everyday life.

Finland’s achievement wasn’t only lowering its suicide rate by 20% in a decade. It was proving, for the first time, that suicide is a preventable public health problem. And that societies willing to look directly at despair can bend the curve of death.

That is Finland’s legacy. And it is a challenge to all of us: if a small country on the edge of Europe could do it, what excuse do we have not to try?

Men Are Good

Update: Dr. Partonen sent me the latest figures for male suicides in Finland, showing that the rates for men were 52.6 per 100,000 in 1990 and had dropped to 20.3 by 2023 — a stunning 61% decrease.

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September 12, 2025
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Who Really Glorifies Violence? Incels vs. the Radical Left

Who Really Glorifies Violence? Incels vs. the Radical Left

For the past several years, the media has been obsessed with incels. Scroll through the headlines and you’ll see the same story over and over: young men, alienated and angry, gathering in online spaces that are supposedly breeding grounds for misogyny and extremism. The word incel has become shorthand for “potential terrorist.”

But when you actually look at what incels say and do, a very different picture emerges. These are not young men plotting the downfall of society. They are young men drowning in despair. Their anger is almost always turned inward. The statistics are overwhelming: nearly 40% report daily suicidal thoughts. Large numbers are neurodivergent. Most have histories of bullying and rejection. The overwhelming danger for incels is not that they’ll kill someone else. It’s that they’ll kill themselves.

And here’s the striking thing: if you spend time in incel forums, you won’t see people celebrating murder. You won’t see a culture of glee when someone they disagree with dies. If anything, incels fear the lone outlier who lashes out violently, because every such case is used as proof that the entire community is dangerous. Violence by incels isn’t glorified—it’s seen as another blow to an already stigmatized group.

Now let’s compare that to what we see in radical activist circles today, particularly on the left. Here the dynamic is inverted. When someone on the “enemy” side is harmed, the reaction is not horror or sadness—it’s laughter, memes, applause.

Take the case of the young man who murdered the CEO of an insurance company. Instead of universal condemnation, there were corners of the activist left that hailed him as a hero. They justified the killing as a righteous strike against capitalism, a blow against corporate greed. A man lost his life, a family lost a father and husband, yet in certain circles his death was something to cheer.

Or look at the assassination of Charlie Kirk. Almost instantly, social media lit up with celebration. Jokes, laughter, memes of joy. Whatever you think of Kirk’s politics, the act of gloating over his murder reveals something chilling. This wasn’t despair—it was cruelty. This wasn’t pain turned inward—it was hate turned outward.

Here lies the real moral difference. Incels may be troubled, confused, even bitter. But they are not celebrating the killing of their opponents. They are not laughing when someone they disagree with lies bleeding in the street. The radical left, on the other hand, has a documented record of doing exactly that.


Despair vs. Cruelty

It’s important to linger on this distinction, because it cuts to the heart of what we mean when we use words like “dangerous” and “evil.”

Despair—even toxic despair—is tragic. A young man who feels he has no chance in love, who spends hours online venting his frustration, who thinks daily about ending his own life—this is heartbreaking. It’s not something to excuse, but neither is it something to demonize. The harm is largely self-directed. He sees himself as the enemy, not his neighbor.

Cruelty is something else entirely. When activists laugh about a murder, when they hail an assassin as a hero, when they gloat over the death of a political opponent, that crosses into the territory of evil. Because cruelty doesn’t just accept suffering—it delights in it. It revels in the humiliation and destruction of others.

That difference matters. It matters morally, and it matters socially. A society that stigmatizes despair while excusing cruelty is one that has its compass broken.


The Media’s Inversion

Yet this is exactly what we see. Incels, who mostly hurt themselves, are branded as ticking time bombs. The media frames them as violent extremists, sometimes even as potential terrorists. Politicians repeat the line that they are a public danger. Entire studies are funded to examine whether incels might pose threats to others.

Meanwhile, when activists openly celebrate the killing of someone they dislike, the response is muted. There’s always a rationalization ready at hand: the victim was powerful, privileged, oppressive. The killer was “lashing out” against injustice. The laughter and memes are brushed aside as dark humor.

This inversion should make us pause. We’ve reached a point where the group that rarely, if ever, glorifies killing is treated as the greater danger, while the group that openly delights in murder gets a cultural pass. It is as if we’ve lost the ability to recognize cruelty for what it is.


Why the Double Standard?

There are several reasons this inversion persists.

First, the media has found incels to be a perfect bogeyman. They fit a ready-made narrative: disaffected young men, angry at women, festering in online echo chambers. It’s a story that generates clicks and moral outrage, even if it wildly exaggerates the real level of risk.

Second, there is a cultural reluctance to hold activists on the left to the same moral standard as others. If someone claims to be fighting for justice, their actions—even violent ones—are easier to excuse. The cause sanctifies the cruelty. This is how cheering a murder becomes acceptable in certain circles: the victim was “bad,” the killer “brave.”

Third, there is a deep gynocentric bias in how we view male suffering. When young men suffer, we blame them. When young men despair, we mock them. When young men kill themselves, we shrug. But when activists (especially women or minorities) express rage, we are trained to sympathize, even when that rage crosses into violence.


The Real Danger

None of this is to say that incel communities are healthy. Many are filled with bitterness and hopelessness. The despair is corrosive, and it can reinforce unhealthy worldviews. But that’s a very different problem than celebrating death.

The real danger to social life is not despair—it’s cruelty. Despair ends lives, yes, but cruelty erodes the fabric of community. When groups begin laughing at the deaths of their opponents, society loses the ability to see opponents as fellow citizens. Violence becomes not just acceptable, but entertaining.

That’s where evil lies.


Restoring Moral Clarity

We desperately need to restore moral clarity here. It is not incels who pose the greatest threat to public life. It is those who celebrate violence, who revel in the killing of their enemies, who turn human suffering into a punchline.

We should stop demonizing the wrong group. Incels are not a death cult. They are a community of wounded men, most of them quietly self-destructing. They need compassion, not caricature.

The real confrontation belongs elsewhere: with the activists who strip others of their humanity and cheer their destruction. That’s where the true corrosion is happening. That’s where the real evil lies.


Conclusion

A society that confuses despair with cruelty has lost its way. Despair deserves our empathy; cruelty demands our opposition. Incels, for all their flaws, are not celebrating murder. The radical left, disturbingly, has shown that it will.

If we are serious about protecting life, if we care about the moral health of our culture, we need to get this distinction right. The young men drowning in loneliness and self-loathing are not our enemies. The people laughing when someone is assassinated are.

Until we can tell the difference, we will continue to aim our outrage at the wrong targets—and the real evil will keep smiling.

Men Are Good

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September 08, 2025
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From Research to Action — How Finland Helped Its Men
Post 2 in a series on what the world can learn from Finland’s suicide prevention efforts

In the last post, we saw how Finland took an extraordinary first step: instead of shrugging at suicide rates, they studied every single case in the country for a full year. They learned who was dying, where, and why.

But research alone doesn’t save lives. The true test came next. Could Finland turn this knowledge into action?

In 1992, the government launched the National Suicide Prevention Project, a sweeping, nationwide effort that would run for five years. Its ambition was bold: to translate the research into targeted interventions across every layer of society — from army barracks to hunting cabins, from classrooms to church pulpits.

The official goal was clear: reduce suicides by 20% in ten years. But the real innovation lay in how Finland went about it.


The National Strategy (1992–1996)

The project was structured into four phases:

  1. Research (1986–1991) — the “Suicides in Finland 1987” study and its provincial reports.

  2. Strategy formation (1992) — drawing up a national action plan based on those findings.

  3. Implementation (1992–1996) — launching over 40 subprogrammes across sectors.

  4. Evaluation (1997 onward) — both internal and external reviews of what worked and what didn’t.

Unlike typical health campaigns, this was not limited to posters or hotlines. It was a multisectoral strategy, pulling in schools, the military, the church, health services, media, and community associations. Each was asked the same question: What role can you play in preventing suicide, based on what we now know?

This was Finland’s genius. The national strategy was not a blunt instrument. It was a framework that allowed each institution, each community, to shape prevention in a way that made sense locally.


Tailoring Interventions to At-Risk Groups

The 1987 research had given Finland something precious: a map of where suicide risk was concentrated. The next step was to design interventions for those specific groups.

Hunters and Rural Men

Middle-aged rural men were at the very center of Finland’s crisis. Many were farmers or hunters, living in isolation, often drinking heavily, and reluctant to seek formal help. The suicide data showed that licensed hunting rifles were among the most common methods.

Instead of preaching from afar, Finland did something remarkable: they went into the hunting clubs themselves. The idea was simple but powerful — hunters already cared about their “mehtäkaveri,” their hunting mate. So why not train them to look out for each other’s mental health as well?

This became the foundation for what later grew into the Hyvä Mehtäkaveri (“Good Hunting Mate”) programme: peer-support training that taught hunters how to ask the difficult question — “Are you doing okay?” — and how to connect someone with help if they weren’t.

Conscripts and Rejected Recruits

Finland’s system of compulsory military service turned out to be both a risk and an opportunity. The research showed that young men rejected from service for health or psychological reasons faced a sharp rise in suicide risk. The rejection carried stigma — it marked them as different at precisely the age when they most wanted to belong.

So the Defense Forces became a frontline partner. Officers and military doctors were trained to spot vulnerable recruits, offer counseling, and refer them to civilian health care when needed. Rejection from service was reframed, not as abandonment, but as a moment to connect a young man with support.

Beyond counseling, Finland also recognized the practical challenges these young men faced. Initiatives supported by the A-Clinic Foundation and the Finnish Association for Mental Health provided concrete assistance: vocational guidance, social support, and structured activities to help rebuild identity and belonging. These efforts aimed to ensure that rejection from the army did not mean rejection from society. One notable example was the “Young Man, Seize the Day” project (1997), which worked with rejected recruits in several cities to provide vocational guidance, structured activities, and community belonging.

Rural Networks and Gatekeepers

Beyond the army and the hunting cabin, Finland leaned on local gatekeepers — the people already embedded in small communities. Teachers, clergy, police officers, even farmer’s association leaders were given training to recognize warning signs and start conversations. The principle was clear: suicide prevention wasn’t just the job of psychiatrists. It was the job of the whole community.

Alcohol Misuse

Alcohol had long been tied to Finnish male suicide, and the research confirmed its role. The project partnered with the A-Clinic Foundation, Finland’s leading addiction services, to integrate substance treatment into suicide prevention. Men who might never walk into a psychiatric clinic might still accept help for their drinking — and through that doorway, receive broader support.

Suicide Attempters

One of the most striking findings from the research was how many people who died by suicide had already made a prior attempt — but had never received proper follow-up care. The project responded by pushing hospitals to change their protocols: no longer would a suicide attempt be treated only as an emergency to be “patched up.” It was to be seen as a red flag demanding structured aftercare.


Engaging Institutions Beyond Health Care

One of the most radical features of Finland’s approach was the insistence that suicide prevention was not just a medical problem. It was a problem for the whole of society — and so the whole of society was asked to respond.

Schools

Teachers and guidance counsellors were trained to notice the early signs of distress in students. Peer-support programs were introduced so that young people themselves could be allies for one another. The idea was to catch suffering early, long before it showed up in statistics.

Churches

In rural Finland, the local parish was often more trusted than the clinic. Clergy were trained to recognize warning signs, offer crisis counseling, and support families after a suicide. By drawing pastors and priests into the project, Finland tapped into one of its most powerful social institutions.

Media

The project also confronted one of the most sensitive issues: how suicide was reported in newspapers and on television. Journalists were given new guidelines — no sensationalism, no detailed descriptions of methods, and always include information about where to find help. The aim was to prevent copycat deaths and shift the narrative from despair to support.

Workplaces

Though less developed than other strands, workplaces were not ignored. Employers were encouraged to recognize stress and depression among workers, especially men in male-dominated industries like farming, forestry, and manufacturing. Early versions of employee assistance programs began to take shape.


The Male Coping Strategies Programme (Planned but Unfinished)

Among all the subprogrammes Finland envisioned, one stood out for its directness: the Male Coping Strategies Programme.

The research had made it impossible to ignore: Finnish men — especially rural, middle-aged men — were at the center of the suicide crisis. They were less likely to seek help, more likely to drink heavily, more likely to use firearms, and more likely to die by suicide.

The Male Coping Strategies Program was designed to tackle this head-on. Its aim was simple but radical:

  • To help men talk openly about their struggles.

  • To normalize seeking help.

  • To strengthen resilience in ways that fit male culture.

The plan included a public information campaign that would have framed help-seeking not as weakness but as strength. It also envisioned building spaces for men to talk — whether through workplaces, community organizations, or even informal networks.

But the program ran into the one barrier no research can overcome: funding. It never received the resources it needed to stand on its own. Instead, pieces of it were absorbed into other projects, most visibly in the military programs for conscripts and rejected recruits.

Even so, its very existence was telling. In the 1990s, Finland was willing to say openly what many countries still refuse to: male suicide is a gendered issue, and if you want to prevent it, you must address men directly.

And although the national campaign never fully materialized, its spirit lived on. Later, local projects like Hyvä Mehtäkaveri in Kainuu — which embedded suicide prevention into rural hunting clubs — were, in a sense, the Male Coping Strategies Programme reborn in community form.


Results

By the mid-1990s, Finland’s gamble was starting to pay off.

Suicide rates, which had climbed steadily for decades, peaked in 1990. Then, during the years of the project’s implementation, they began to fall. By 1996, suicides had dropped by about 20% from that peak, bringing the numbers below where they had started a decade earlier.

The change wasn’t just in the statistics. Across Finland, you could see new practices taking root:

  • Hospitals no longer discharged suicide attempters without follow-up.

  • Journalists wrote about suicide more responsibly.

  • Teachers and clergy were equipped to recognize distress.

  • Hunters and soldiers had begun to see suicide prevention as something that concerned them too.

An internal evaluation in the late 1990s found that 43% of service sectors reported adopting suicide prevention measures as a result of the project. More than a dozen working models had been developed, along with 70+ publications, training guides, and handbooks.

An external international review in 1999 concluded that the project’s achievements outweighed its shortcomings. The reviewers praised its breadth, creativity, and impact. They noted some gaps — the elderly had been largely overlooked, and the long-term anchoring of prevention into municipal structures was still weak — but the core finding was clear: Finland had changed the trajectory of suicide in the country.

The numbers proved it. And behind those numbers were lives saved.


Why This Matters

The Finnish project showed something the world badly needed to see: suicide prevention works when you meet people where they are.

Instead of waiting for men to walk into clinics, Finland brought prevention to the places where men already lived their lives:

  • In the forests and hunting cabins with their friends.

  • In the army barracks or on the day they were turned away from service.

  • In the pulpit, the classroom, and the local newspaper.

They refused the fatalism of “men won’t seek help.” They built a system that didn’t rely on men crossing the threshold of a psychiatrist’s office. It relied on communities, networks, and everyday institutions to notice, to care, and to act.

And the results speak for themselves: a 20% reduction in suicide rates during the project period. Hundreds of lives saved. A culture shifted.

The contrast with the United States could not be starker. Here, suicide among men — especially middle-aged rural men — is often treated as an inevitability. Our prevention strategies remain vague, underfunded, and detached from the very communities where the deaths are happening.

Finland’s lesson is clear: if you want to prevent suicide, you cannot stop at awareness campaigns and crisis hotlines. You must go out and build support into the fabric of everyday life — in the places where people already gather, work, and belong.


Coming Next: Finland’s Legacy

By the end of the 1990s, Finland had achieved something unprecedented: a national, research-based suicide prevention program that actually bent the curve downward. It wasn’t perfect — some groups were overlooked, funding wasn’t always secure, and not every community took the work as far as it could go. But the results were undeniable.

The project left behind more than lower suicide rates. It left behind a set of models, training tools, and cultural shifts that would ripple across the Nordic region and, eventually, far beyond. Other countries began to take notice. And at the same time, another Finnish innovation — a quiet revolution in psychiatric care called Open Dialogue — was spreading internationally, offering yet another way to reduce suffering and save lives.

In the next post, we’ll look at Finland’s legacy: how their suicide prevention ideas influenced other nations, what worked and what didn’t, and how a small country in the north became a global leader in rethinking how we respond to despair.

Men Are Good

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