MenAreGood

Indigenous Rituals and What They Tell Us About Men

Excerpt - Swallowed by a Snake Chapter Nine

August 26, 2024

Cross-Cultural Grief

This is chapter nine of Swallowed by a Snake: The Gift of the Masculine Side of Healing. In the late 1980’s I was confused about men’s ways of healing and bumped into the anthropological research on cross cultural grief. It was this research that clearly showed the tendency of indigenous people to give men activities following a loss. The more I studied the more I saw that men relied on action as a mode of healing. It was easy to admire the grief rituals these folks offered to both men and women. See what you think.

Chapter Nine - Cross Cultural Grief

Indigenous people around the world have highly developed rituals and mechanisms in place in their cultures to aid the resolution of grief. These rituals are an important part of life for these people. Their cultures are fertile ground for grief to be nourished. In many ways we are the primitives, because we have very few mechanisms in our culture that function in a similar way. By studying the way indigenous people grieve we can begin to get some idea about the state of grief in our own culture and our inadequate rituals. Using the analogy of a business or a sports team that is not doing well compared to the competition, we can examine a successful party and learn from their achievement. We will probably not adopt a specific grief ritual from another culture, but we will be able to see how these cultures have incorporated grief into their daily lives and how they have developed different rituals for men and women.

These cultures have implemented action-oriented rituals that allow both men and women tasks that connect them with their grief. In our own culture we have no such thing. We are left to our own devices to heal our grief, many times without the support of a caring community. Given this void of ritual, men and women are put into a precarious state. Often, women are able to overcome this void by using their skills of relating and their natural tendency towards verbally sharing their grief with others, but men, usually with strengths of a different nature, are at more of a disadvantage. Without culturally-endorsed rituals men are left with nothing to do following a death. It has been my clinical observation that men in our culture grieve through task, that is, they find activities that allow them to access and heal their grief. Through studying the cross-cultural literature we can begin to get a glimpse of the possible root of a man’s tendency in our own culture to connect his grief with action.

The least we can expect is to stimulate our own thinking about different ways to express grief. Our own weakness in dealing with grief can be strengthened by observing the strength of the tribal culture’s ritual that is so effective in helping their communities come to terms with their loss. With that said, let’s look at what can be learned from grief around the world.

Community

One of the first things we notice is the difference between the social structure of indigenous people and our own way of life. Tribal cultures live in communities of intimately interconnected people who are closely affected in some way by the death of any member. They live in close proximity, rely on each other for the necessities of life, and usually have a common history and world view. There is a bond between them that is amplified by the feeling of “us” and “we” that develops when a group of people share such interdependence. The people of these cultures have ritual structures in place that are designed to support those in grief. There is usually a strong expectation and a sense of responsibility that the community will lend its support to those in pain. There is a sense that each death is a loss of the community, not a loss that is isolated.

We can contrast this with our own situation, where there is a certain invisibility in our interdependence. We live together in neighborhoods but not necessarily communities. Many times the neighbors who live three doors down the street have little attachment to or connection with our family. We shop in different places and work in different settings. When a member of a tribe dies, it is a person who was connected in many ways to the community. When a member of a neighborhood in North America dies, too often it is merely someone who lived down the street.

The interdependence of the tribal cultures can be better compared in some ways to the family unit in the United States. Families are interdependent in a similar kind of way, with each member having prescribed roles and duties and interacting on a daily basis. In many ways our families have become our communities. But without the embrace of a larger community we are left with fewer places to receive support for our grief. Our primary means of support frequently is limited to the members of our family. A table with many legs is not affected by one leg being sawed off, but a table with three or four legs is crippled by a similar loss. This is one of the reasons for the emergence of grief counseling in our culture.

World View

Another difference we notice is that the world view of the indigenous people in some way brings meaning to grief. Many times grief is seen as food for the soul of the dead person. The Minianka tribe in Africa see the tears of grief as being nourishment to the newborn soul of the person being grieved. Without the tears the soul could not move beyond the land of the living. In this way the mourners see their grief as a benefit to the person who has died. The variations of this theme are many, but they all incorporate the idea that grief is a necessary process and without it there is some sort of trouble. It is easy to see the contrast to our own culture where people tend to feel that their grief has no purpose or meaning, or worse yet, that it is a selfish act.

Marking the Griever

There are many common themes in the grief rituals among indigenous people. One of these is the tendency to mark the griever. All sorts of mechanisms are used, but one that is found in many cultures is hair. For many tribal people hair is a symbol of life. It marks the passage of time and is therefore connected with life and death. Many times the grievers either cut off their hair or allow their hair and (in the case of the men) beard to grow in response to a death. This is done as a symbolic act and as a part of a ritual process prescribed by the community, but it also functions as a way to mark the mourners. All the people of the community are aware that a certain haircut means a person is grieving. There are many variations on this theme, including special cuts where only a part of the hair is cut or all hair is sheared. The hair can be cut with all sorts of instruments, such as sharpened seashells, or it may be burned off. Sometimes the cut hair is saved as a memorial, to become part of a necklace or be used in a ritual. The important message of the special hair cut is that this is a person in pain, a person who is grieving, and the treatment he receives is altered due to his status as a griever.

Other ways of marking the griever include covering oneself with ashes or oil or certain colors of paint. In one African tribe there is a complex system of designating the colors of grief paint to alert the community to the type of loss that has been suffered. For instance, a man whose father died would wear a certain color of paint in a certain place on the body. If it had been his mother who died, the paint would have been a different color and painted in a different design. This simple system not only alerts the community to the fact that this man is grieving, it also clearly marks the type of loss that has occurred.

Bark

Bark is used in some cultures both as a way to mark the griever and as a symbol of grief. The Karanga people of Africa wear bark to mark themselves as grieving. Women wear a bark necklace, and men wear a woven bark chain around the head. The bark serves also as a symbol of loss, indicating that an individual has been stripped away from the community as bark has been stripped from the tree.

The story of Jaque, also related in a previous chapter, is another example of bark used as a symbol of loss. When his brother died suddenly, Jaque was torn by sadness and anger. Following ancient custom, he went into the forest, selected a tree and, after uttering a prayer, stripped away a piece of the bark. Now the tree, like Jaque, had lost something whose loss caused deep pain. Many times over the following months he returned to visit the tree. As the seasons passed, the wound in the tree healed. So did the wound in Jaque’s heart. With the tree as a visible reflection of his loss, Jaque was reminded that he, too, was healing. Jaque is a Native American, a Cree.

In this example, the bark of the tree was used as a symbol of the pain that the man was experiencing. As the bark is a covering of the tree, it is almost as if the man had his own covering sliced away in a similar manner. A part of him was taken—not his core, which still exists—but something that was a part of him all the same. The tree stood as a symbol for his loss; it was wounded in a similar way. Each time he visited that site the tree could remind him of his own wound and, as he watched the tree heal, of his own healing.

These are some of the ways native people have used to mark the griever. Marking gives the griever a public role to play and, in essence, permission to publicly and privately grieve. We can contrast this with the invisibility of grief in our culture. One of the last markings to be discarded in our culture was the black arm band. We now have no overt way to differentiate the people in our community who are grieving from those who are not. The men and women who are grieving can feel this invisibility and the accompanying lack of permission to grieve. Indigenous cultures prescribe specific behaviors and roles for the bereaved, the grief “norm” as it were. This can be contrasted with our own situation where there is confusion over where and when to express grief, or how much grief and of what duration is normal. This lack of “norm” leaves everyone guessing. The people I have worked with have all had the same question, “Is what I’m going through normal?” We are left untethered with a great deal of pain but no box to put it in.

When Does Grief End?

In some tribal communities, it is the responsibility of the community to clearly state when the time of official grief has ended. An example might be that a grieving man was marked by being forbidden to eat a certain type of food. When the community members feel it is the right time, they will offer the particular food to the grieving man as a symbol that he is now ready to re-enter the community as a non- grieving person. There are examples other than food—a certain way of dressing or different behavior—but the essence is the same: the community clearly marks the boundaries of grief for the griever. This contrasts with our own culture where there is great confusion about when and how much grief is appropriate. We live in a near vacuum of social indicators about the time needed to grieve. The most prevalent guideline we have is that many people don’t think you should be grieving at all.

Separating Men and Women in Grief

Another form of marking the griever is the separation of men and women in the grief rituals. By separating the grievers these cultures are honoring the differences in grieving between men and women and setting up different containers for healing. An example is the Bara people of southern Madagascar who designate two huts when a death occurs. One hut is the Tranadahy, which means “male house;” the other is the Trano Be Ranomaso, which means the “house of many tears.” During the period of time after the death these huts are used for congregating and receiving condolences. The men’s hut is the center of activity regarding the death. The men plan and initiate the rituals, receive condolences from the male guests, and take responsibility for the body. The women’s hut is more the center of emotional expression, with the women keening, wailing, and crying as they receive condolences from the female guests. These people literally have different places for men and women to be following a death. In this way, men and women are among their own sex and are in a position to be healed by their same-sex community members. It also honors the difference in grieving styles between men and women by allowing the opportunity for each to be near those who grieve as they do.

Tribal people have found a box in which to put grief. That box is ritual. The ritual that is used is both a container for the effects of grief and a norm that shows people the way to grieve. It can be any number of activities. For women the ritual many times is related to sharing their pain with each other, crying or keening. Men, on the other hand, usually have a ritual that includes some sort of action—singing sacred songs, drumming, dancing, tree wounding, etc. When Rosenblatt examined grief in 87 different cultures, he did not find a single culture in which men expressed tears more than women. In nine of the cultures studied the men didn’t cry at all, and in most of the cases studied the men cried less than the women.24 This points to a significant difference among men and women: men don’t use tears as much as women when dealing with their grief. This finding is not limited to western cultures, as many of the cultures Rosenblatt studied were tribal people who still maintained their grief rituals from their cultural heritage. From this we can see that even in cultures where there is an adequate container for grief the men tend to use tears less often than women. This finding seems to verify the research, regarding a man’s decreased levels of prolactin and the increased difficulty for men to access their tears.

What we find when we examine the cross-cultural literature is that men many times have active rituals that help them move into their grief. There is a tribe in Africa where the men literally face the women who are crying and keening in order to get into the mood of grief. They use this activity of watching the women to bring forth their own sense of loss. Even these tribal men with the luxury of intricate and beautiful grief rituals acknowledge that it is not an easy task for them to move into their feeling state. By their actions of facing the women they do something that puts them closer to their own grief.

Drumming

Another active ritual used around the world is that of drumming. The men of the Yoruba in Africa use drumming as an active means to deal with their grief.25 They have a variety of rhythms for different parts of the funeral service; a rhythm for washing the body, a rhythm for lowering the body into the grave, etc. After the death of a chief the men start playing a specific monotonous grief rhythm over and over. This rhythm is played continuously for three days. The men of the tribe are responsible for keeping the rhythm going and do not allow it to stop. They drum day and night, sleeping in shifts and then drumming for long periods. It is through this ritual, and many others, that the men have something to do after the death, and this activity helps them engage feelings of grief. The rhythm signals to the tribe that a state of mourning exists and is a constant reminder of the loss to the community.

Externalization of Pain

Another aspect of active ritual is the externalization of pain. This is accomplished in a great variety of ways, from lacerating the body, scratching oneself until the blood flows, knocking out a tooth, or even cutting off a finger. Anthropologists tell us the reasons for these mutilations are related to a number of factors encompassed in their world view, including rendering the ghost of the deceased harmless, convincing the soul of the dead of the sincerity of the grief, establishing a corporal union between the living and the dead, strengthening the departed, as an offering, or purification. A few anthropologists have seen the core of these actions: they are outward acts that express inner states. By wounding the body in some way, the inner pain has an outer parallel. This is similar to Jaque who wounded a tree as a symbol; it is just that these people are wounding themselves. As their wounds heal, they will have an outer symbol for the healing of their inner wounds. They will also have physical scars to remind them for some time of the loss that occurred. One Australian tribe has a name for grief that literally translated means “bad guts.” That is probably the best description of grief I have ever heard. The mutilations cut away at the “bad guts” and let them flow. There is a ritual among the Aborigines where the blood that is dripping from the mutilated griever is allowed to drip onto the corpse, apparently in an effort to merge the living and the dead and to strengthen the dead person. I am certainly not suggesting that we adopt these rituals as a means to facilitate our own grief. However, they are honest and effective means that these people have found to externalize their pain and “bad guts.”

Let’s turn now to looking in more detail at the way a particular tribal culture deals with grief. We can examine closely the grief rituals and the mechanisms that the men use in dealing with their grief.

The Yolngu

Our first example is an Aborigine people of Australia, the Yolngu.26 The men of this tribe begin to work with their grief before a death occurs. As a person becomes seriously ill, the men respond by singing sacred songs. Groups of men gather around the bedside of the ailing person and sing the sacred songs of the tribe. This is not a “let’s sing a song and go” routine. The men will sing continuously as the person lies ill. The purpose of the songs is to comfort the dying person, to keep him alert, to insure that the person will die in the right “Manikay” (sacred song cycle), to alert the ancestors that this person is coming to them, and to insure that his soul will be oriented towards its “home” after death. As the men do this, the women of the tribe are responsible for the care of the sick person and feeding the men who are singing. If there is consensus that the person is dying, the women will also cry or keen along with the songs. This crying or keening by the women is called “ngathi.” Both the crying and keening and the songs by the men are accompanied by traditional Aborigine instruments, the clapsticks and the didgeridoo. Sometimes the ailing person recovers, and if this happens the singers disperse and life goes on. If death occurs, quiet covers the camp, uncharacteristic of the usual hustle and bustle.

At the ritual announcement of the death, which is made by a man, the women of the tribe keen and wail and throw themselves to the ground. At times they will strike themselves with sharp objects. It is expected that the men of the community will restrain the women from seriously injuring themselves. The men step forward and pull the weapons from the women’s hands and throw them out of reach. The women usually respond to this by ceasing their attempts at self-injury. This action of protecting the women is seen as a sign of protection for the grievers, and a show of community support for those who are most affected by the death. It is an action that men can take that is both protecting their loved ones and an indication of their own grief.

The men of the tribe will also keen at times, particularly if the dead person was a close relative, but the more common emotional expression of the men is venting anger by dancing. It is said that the men will dance in an “energetic and violent” manner that signifies hostility. According to Rosenblatt, this expression of hostility directed outward is a common masculine activity following a death. Many times a man’s anger will open the door into his other feelings of grief.27

Tribal Ritual in the 20th Century

The Yolngu people are in many ways between two worlds. Although they have maintained many of their rituals, they also live in the midst of twentieth century technology. If a member of their tribe has died in the nearby hospital, the body is retrieved in ritual fashion. The community goes to the hospital and obtains the body, then forms a “slow, emotional, and ritualized” procession back to their camp. The body, moved with accompanying dancing and singing, is taken to a shelter where it will lie until burial. It is said that even the cars take part in the ritual, slowing, stopping, starting, and reversing as they mimic the movements of the dancers.

The coffin of the dead person is painted with sacred symbols by the initiated men of the Yolngu. These symbols are secret and are not allowed to be viewed by women and children. The purpose of the sacred symbols is to mediate between the soul of the dead person and the ancestors who will help this newly born soul along his way. Prior to the use of coffins, the Yolngu men would paint the body of the deceased with red ochre and then paint on the sacred symbols.

Singing the Grief

Throughout the days of the ceremonies grief is openly expressed, many times through song. These songs communicate many things: a wish for the return of the dead person, memories of the events in the life of the one who died, and the hope of a safe passageway for the soul to the ancestors. The men often will be singing day and night, and will sleep in shifts as the songs continue. The singing of songs by the men is an important part of the funeral service. They are accompanied by the dancing of the women who enact the stories that the songs are depicting.

The grief that is felt and expressed at the funeral ceremonies can continue for some time. It is said that late at night after the day is done and the tasks of the community are completed, you can sometimes hear the keening of a solitary mourner. The sound is heard throughout the quiet of the community and is accepted as a reminder of the pain and grief that the mourner still feels.

The men are responsible for the ritual activities of their community, and in many ways become like stage managers or directors, making the ritual preparations, rehearsing the songs, and making sure the process runs smoothly. The Yolngu men are active in working with their grief, with very specific activities assigned to them. These activities of singing, dancing, and directing the rituals give the men a framework in which their feelings can emerge and be honored and acknowledged. The women are also busy in keening, crying, dancing, caring for the children, and feeding the men. The men and women of this tribe have very specific roles to play, and both support each other through the difficult period of grief.

The Dagura People

We now turn to another example of indigenous grief rituals, that of the Dagura people of Africa.28 When a death occurs the women of the village begin to grieve. Their grief is somewhat muted, however, until the men have ritually announced the death. This announcement cannot occur until the men have created a “sacred space” for the grief of the village to emerge, and no man is allowed to show signs of grief until after this ritual space has been created. This is done by invoking the aid of the spirits through a private ritual performed only by the men. The invoking of the spirits is partly designed to elicit enough grief from the mourners to allow the dead person to move into the world of the ancestors. The Dagura believe that the soul’s journey into the next world is dependent in some ways upon the grief expressed by the mourners. Without adequate grief, the soul is thought to be stuck on this plane of existence and unable to leave the world. They have thus connected their grief with a purpose, that being the birth of the soul of the newly dead. The creation of ritual space, a safe container for the expression of grief, is seen as essential to the birthing of the spirit of the person who died. A part of this creation of sacred space involves throwing ashes around the house of the deceased and the ritual preparation of an actual physical space for the grief ritual. The announcement states that there has been a death, the ritual space is ready, and it is now time to grieve.

The Dagura Grief Ritual

The grief ritual itself is complex and beautiful. The grieving space is divided into different sections. The body of the dead person is dressed ceremonially and seated on a stool in the section called the “shrine.” Two women elders are seated next to the body and are charged with the duty to collect the grief that is being expressed and to “load it on” to the dead person to help him or her in the journey toward the ancestors. The shrine is colorfully decorated and contains some of the important possessions of the dead person. There is a boundary around the shrine which symbolically marks the separation between the living and the dead, and outside of the two women tending to the body, no one is allowed to enter the shrine, for to do so would mean entering the realm of the dead.

Between the shrine and the mourners is an empty space that represents chaos. Within this space people are allowed to express any form of grief they want, as long as it is related to their feelings about the death. Crying, dancing, or any expression of emotion is accepted and expected to take place within this space. There are people who are designated as “containers.” These people are often relatives who have come from afar. Their job is to insure the safety of the space for the grievers, making sure that no harm comes to those who are actively grieving. The Dagura believe in releasing grief with all its intensity, but they have also developed a system in which the intensity does not exceed the capacity of the mourners. It is like a system of checks and balances. The containers follow the grievers as they mourn and if they stray out of the ritual space, will gently tap them on the shoulder to remind them to come back into the contained space.

On one side of the shrine are the men of the village and on the other side are the women. Each group consists of mourners and containers. The mourners are further divided by the “kotuosob,” a small piece of rope tied around the wrist of the griever. The rope designates a person who was particularly close to the deceased, perhaps a family member. This marking alerts all the participants that someone who is wearing the “kotuosob” is what they call a “center of the heat” person, that is, a person who is more likely to be in danger of “grieving himself to death.” The Dagura see grief as food for the psyche, necessary to maintain a healthy psychological balance. But they also see its danger—too much grief and a person will “lose their center” and, they believe, can grieve to death. Thus the Dagura designate specific containers to follow closely behind the tagged person and do exactly as they do, including dancing, jumping to the beat of the drum, or pounding the ground. Sometimes when a tagged griever is experiencing a great deal of grief, a group of containers and mourners will form a line behind him or her with each person in the line doing the same action as the primary griever. It is understood that this transmits the feeling of the primary griever into all of those down the line. This type of process is viewed as a form of silent and physical support to the person who is grieving. It is important to point out that among the Dagura the healing of grief is gender specific. That is, no woman will approach a man in trying to help him with his grief, and no man would do the same for a woman. They believe that it takes a man to help release and heal the grief of another man, and a woman to reflect the grief of a woman.

Music

Music plays an integral part of the ritual. The ceremony is accompanied by xylophones and drums and two singers. The xylophones are divided into male and female. The male xylophone follows the mood of the singers and the female xylophone accompanies the male xylophone with a redundant set of notes. The singers are charged with the responsibility of singing (chanting) the life of the dead person. They sing the joy and sorrow of the family history and the events which led up to the death. This spontaneous singing is done in order to emphasize and direct the grief of the community.

Everyone in the community is expected to take part in this ritual. It is held as a solemn responsibility. Anyone who happens to be near the village during the ritual is expected to participate. It is as if death stops life for a while, all other activities coming to a halt. In the words of one singer, “We are trapped in a world in which we are not in control because of the mighty power of death.”

In the Yolngu and Dagura cultures, and in others around the world, grief is vented at the funeral in a very intensive fashion. The rituals of both last about three full days. During that time grief is given all the attention of the community, and it flows and flows. It should also be noted that in both cultures the support for a person’s grief does not stop after the funeral. Most indigenous people have post- funeral rituals that provide further opportunity to express grief. Rituals are practiced throughout the year, often marking important dates such as the one-year anniversary of the death. The community expects the grief to continue for some time, and in both the Yolngu and Dagura cultures grief can be released after the funeral and at the next funeral, if need be. This can be compared with our own culture where there is usually very little expression of grief during the funeral services, and few, if any, culturally-endorsed occasions for expressing grief thereafter.

Both the Yolngu and Dagura examples begin to give us an idea of how our culture lacks sufficient contained space to process the emotions that follow a death. Both have woven grief into the fabric of their lives and into their world view. Both cultures have linked a person’s grief with the purpose of aiding the soul in its journey. These cultures are very explicit in providing markers of who are the grievers and actions and roles to be played. We have very little of this. Both give men specific things to do following a death, activities that help them in connecting to their grief. Among the Yolngu, men have the responsibility of singing, and with the Dagura, men are responsible for the ritual and the healing of other men.

Imagine just for a moment that the people of the Dagura and the Yolngu suddenly lost their active grief rituals. What would happen to their men and women? What would the men of the Yolngu do without their songs? In some ways this is a parallel of what is happening in our culture. We have much to learn from indigenous people about the resolution of grief. We can use this knowledge to find creative mechanisms that are right for us.

24. Rosenblatt, P.C., R.P. Walsh, and D.A. Jackson. Grief and Mourning in Cross-Cultural Perspective. 1976, H.R.A.F. Press.
25. Diallo, Yaya, and Mitchell Hall. The Healing Drum: African WisdomTeachings. Rochester, Vermont. 1989, Destiny Books.
26. Reed, Janice “A Time to Live a Time to Grieve: Patterns and Processes of Mourning Among the Yolngu of Australia.” Culture, Medicine, and Psychiatry, 3, 1979.
27. Rosenblatt.
28. Some, Malidoma. Ritual: Power, Healing and Community. Portland. 1993, Swan Raven and Company.

If you are interested in this book you can find it here.

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Gratitude: The Quiet Strength That Grounds Us

Thanksgiving gives us a reason to pause. We stop, we gather, we notice what’s good. But gratitude isn’t just for a holiday — it’s one of the most grounding forces we can experience, especially for men.

While many emotions pull us into the past or the future, gratitude brings us home to the present. Depression lives in the past — the regrets, the losses, the “if onlys.” Fear and anxiety live in the future — the “what ifs.” But gratitude? Gratitude lives in the now. It opens our eyes to what is still right, still working, still worthy of thanks.

In that sense, gratitude isn’t soft. It’s strong. It steadies the mind and slows the heartbeat. It’s one of the few emotions that can stop our racing thoughts and remind us that, for this moment, we are safe enough to notice the good.

Men’s Quiet Language of Gratitude

Men often express gratitude differently. Many don’t talk about it much, but they live it. You see it in a father fixing a leaky faucet before anyone wakes up. You see it in a husband warming the car on a cold morning. You see it in the man who takes the time to teach his son how to change a tire. You see it in the neighbor who quietly mows the lawn for someone recovering from surgery. They show thanks not in words, but through small acts that say: I’m here, I care, and you matter.

Where women might share their feelings through words, men often express theirs through action. Gratitude, for many men, is a verb — something done rather than said. It’s built into service, protection, provision, and care.

That difference isn’t a deficiency; it’s a different language. When a man says little but does much, that’s gratitude in motion. It’s a form of love that asks for no credit.

Gratitude as the Antidote to Fear and Regret

Modern life pulls men toward two poles — regret for what’s behind and fear for what’s ahead. Gratitude interrupts both.

When we take time to feel thankful, we’re forced to stop scanning for what’s wrong and notice what’s right. Our attention shifts from scarcity to sufficiency. From threat to trust.

Psychologically, that shift is powerful. The brain can’t hold gratitude and fear in full strength at the same time. When one rises, the other fades. Gratitude quiets the amygdala — the brain’s alarm system — and activates the prefrontal cortex, the part responsible for calm focus and good judgment.

For men, who are often wired and trained to stay alert, to fix, to anticipate, gratitude gives permission to pause. It doesn’t remove responsibility, but it lets the nervous system rest for a moment in appreciation rather than vigilance.

Gratitude says: You don’t have to solve everything right now. Some things are already okay.

Transforming Pain Into Meaning

Gratitude isn’t denial. It doesn’t mean pretending everything’s fine. It means seeing what’s still worth cherishing even when life hurts.

When a man looks back on a loss and says, “I wish it hadn’t happened, but I’m grateful for what it taught me,” that’s not sentimentality — it’s transformation. It’s the same movement described in The Way Men Heal — the act of turning pain into purpose, of transforming ashes into wisdom.

Gratitude becomes the bridge between grief and growth. It allows men to integrate their suffering into a larger story — one that includes both loss and meaning. That’s how gratitude strengthens the soul.

The Daily Practice of Gratitude

We often think of gratitude as something spontaneous — something that happens when life feels good. But the truth is, gratitude grows strongest when it’s practiced deliberately, even on ordinary or difficult days.

Psychologist Martin Seligman’s famous “Three Good Things” exercise is a perfect example. Each night before bed, you simply write down three things that went well that day — and why they went well. It might be a small kindness, a quiet walk, or the way the sunlight hit the trees.

Research shows that after just a week of doing this, people report higher happiness and lower stress — benefits that can last for months. It’s not magic; it’s training the mind to notice goodness instead of danger.

You might say it’s rewiring the brain for appreciation — something men can do as naturally as fixing what’s broken. It’s a kind of inner craftsmanship.

And maybe that’s the message of Thanksgiving itself: gratitude doesn’t belong to one Thursday in November. It’s a daily practice, a quiet rebellion against cynicism and complaint.

Gratitude as a Rebellion of the Heart

In a culture that tells men they’re the problem, gratitude can be an act of defiance.
To stay grateful in a world that often shames or misunderstands men is to say, “I still see the good. I still know what matters.”

Gratitude grounds a man in meaning. It restores moral agency — the sense that he can still give, still love, still appreciate the gift of being alive.

Maybe that’s why gratitude feels so steady: it reminds us who we are beneath the noise.

A Thanksgiving Reflection

So this Thanksgiving, maybe we can remember that gratitude doesn’t need to be loud.
It can be quiet, steady, and strong — like the men who practice it through their actions every day.

Gratitude doesn’t erase hardship, but it reveals the light still shining through the cracks. It draws us out of the past, away from fear of the future, and into this very moment — the only place where love and goodness can be lived.

Try ending each day this week by writing down three things you’re grateful for. They don’t have to be big. Just real. Let your mind begin to look for what’s right.

Because men are good. And gratitude reminds us that the world, for all its flaws, still is too.

Men are good, as are you.

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tgolden@tgolden

November 24, 2025

The Bias We Pretend Doesn't Hurt Boys

How a Culture Built to Protect Girls Leaves Boys Unseen and Unheard

Every now and then, a simple classroom exercise reveals something profound about human nature. Jane Elliott’s famous “blue-eyes/brown-eyes” experiment did exactly that. Many of you will remember it: the day after Martin Luther King Jr. was assassinated, Elliott, a third-grade teacher in Iowa, decided her students needed to understand prejudice in a way a lecture could never accomplish.

So she divided the children by eye color.

One group was told they were smarter, kinder, and better behaved. The other group — their own classmates and friends — were told they were not. Nothing about the children changed except the message they were given.

That was enough.

Within minutes, the “favored” students stood taller and spoke more confidently. They completed work more quickly and volunteered answers with pride. The disfavored group wilted. Their shoulders rounded. Their test scores dropped. Some withdrew, others grew angry. A few even began to believe the negative things said about them.

Elliott hadn’t created new children. She had created a new context — one in which the adults in power defined who deserved approval and who didn’t.

The experiment showed something we often forget: children are exquisitely sensitive to the attitudes and expectations of the people who guide them.

Even subtle cues from authority can become destiny. A raised eyebrow, a dismissive tone, a slogan on the wall — all of it shapes who children believe they are allowed to be.

Elliott’s students went through only a single day of being “favored” or “disfavored,” and it changed their behavior, confidence, and even cognitive performance.

Imagine, for a moment, what would happen if one group of children lived like this not for a day, but for years. Imagine if the message they heard — from teachers, media, curriculum, and culture — told them that something essential about them was wrong.

Imagine if they were boys.

That’s where we’re headed. But before we get there, we need one more piece of the puzzle.

Because psychologists later discovered that what Elliott demonstrated dramatically in a classroom is also happening quietly inside children every day. They even gave it a name.

It’s called stereotype threat.

And it explains far more about our boys’ struggles — and our cultural blind spots — than most people realize.

What We Learned From Girls and Math

Stereotype threat is a simple idea with enormous consequences.

It refers to what happens when a person fears confirming a negative stereotype about their group. That fear — often subtle, often unspoken — increases anxiety, reduces working memory, undermines confidence, and lowers performance.

It is not about ability.
It is about expectation.

And most people first learn about stereotype threat in one particular context: girls and math.

For decades, girls were surrounded by the quiet cultural rumor that “girls aren’t good at math.” Teachers didn’t always say it directly. They didn’t have to. It floated around in a thousand small ways: textbook examples, facial expression, who was called on in class, who was encouraged and who was consoled. Girls absorbed it the way plants absorb light.

Researchers found that when girls were subtly reminded of this stereotype—even by something as small as checking a gender box at the top of a math test—their scores dropped. Anxiety went up. They second-guessed themselves. They disengaged.

The story was not about intelligence.
It was about identity under pressure.

The response from the educational system was swift and well-funded. Millions of dollars flowed into programs designed to counteract the stereotype threat girls faced in math:

teacher trainings
new curricula
role model programs
classroom redesign
mindset interventions
special grants
girls-only STEM groups
national awareness campaigns

All created to make sure young girls never again felt that mathematics was “not for them.”

And let me say this clearly: I support that work completely. No child should carry the weight of a negative stereotype when they’re simply trying to learn.

But something interesting happened.

As we were rallying national resources to eliminate a relatively narrow, subject-specific stereotype affecting girls in one academic domain….we failed to notice a far larger, far more toxic stereotype spreading over boys.

A stereotype not about arithmetic or algebra, but about their very nature.

A stereotype not whispered quietly, but broadcast loudly.

And unlike the stereotype about girls and math, this one has no funding, no programs, no protections, and no advocates in the institutions that shape boys’ lives.

That brings us to the part of the story almost no one wants to discuss.

The Stereotype Threat No One Will Name: What Boys Hear Every Day

If stereotype threat can undermine a girl’s confidence in math, imagine what happens when the stereotype isn’t about a subject…but about who you are.

Unlike girls, boys today aren’t navigating a single academic stereotype. They are navigating a cultural identity stereotype — one that targets their character, their intentions, their value, and their future.

And it’s everywhere.

Walk into almost any school, turn on almost any youth-oriented media channel, look at the messaging in teacher trainings, HR seminars, political slogans, and popular entertainment. The language aimed at boys is unmistakable:

“Boys are toxic.”
“Masculinity is inherently dangerous.”
“Men are oppressors.”
“Patriarchy is your fault.”
“You are privileged, even when you’re struggling.”
“The future is female.”
“Believe all women”
“We need fewer men like you and more women in charge.”
“Boys don’t mature, they get socialized into violence.”

Imagine hearing messages like this from every angle: teachers, counselors, the news, college brochures, viral videos, and political speeches. Even prime-time awards shows repeat the same theme: something is wrong with boys and men.

This is not a stereotype about ability. This is a stereotype about identity, morality, and worth.

And boys absorb it, like plants absorb the light.

Even the well-behaved ones.
The gentle ones.
The kind-hearted ones.
Perhaps especially the kind-hearted ones.

Because they are the ones who listen most closely to adult expectations. They care what adults think. And when every signal suggests there is something wrong with being male, boys begin to feel it in the same way Jane Elliott’s “less favored” children did:

some withdraw
some grow angry
some become depressed
some try desperately to prove they’re “safe”
some silence themselves around girls
some tune out and give up

Many learn to walk on eggshells.
Many learn to mask who they are.
Some feel ashamed before they even understand why.

This is stereotype threat on a scale our culture has never been willing to examine.
It undermines boys’ confidence not only in school, but in relationships, leadership, belonging, and moral value. It doesn’t hit one subject — it hits the entire self-concept.

And here’s the tragic irony:

When girls faced a stereotype affecting a single academic domain (math), our entire educational system mobilized. But when boys face a stereotype that frames their entire identity as suspect, dangerous, or defective…we look away.

Worse — we call it “progress.”

No grants.
No programs.
No protective messaging.
No teacher training on “encouraging healthy masculinity.”
No funding streams labeled “male resilience,” “male identity support,” or “boys’ psychological development.”

Nothing.

And yet we know from the psychology: stereotype threat doesn’t care which direction it flows. It hurts anyone subjected to it. Girls. Boys. Adults. Elders. Anyone.

The difference is that girls’ stereotype threat is treated as a national emergency, while boys’ stereotype threat is treated as an inconvenient truth best left unmentioned.

But the boys feel it.
They feel it deeply.
And it is reshaping an entire generation.

When you place a child in the “disfavored” group in Jane Elliott’s classroom, the effects show up almost immediately: withdrawn posture, lowered confidence, anger, sadness, and declining performance. Now imagine that same dynamic stretched across a childhood—not for a day or two, but for years.

That is what today’s boys are living through.

We’re watching the results play out right in front of us, but we rarely connect the dots. The signs are everywhere, yet hidden in plain sight:

Boys are falling behind academically.

Not by a little.
By a lot.

They earn:

lower grades,
fewer honors,
and far fewer college degrees.

Reading and writing gaps—never small—have now grown in size.

But we don’t ask whether constant negative messaging about male identity might be a factor. Instead, we say boys should “step up,” “apply themselves,” or “be less lazy,” as though shame has ever been a motivator.

Boys are disengaging from school.

Teachers say boys participate less. They’re more likely to tune out, act out, or withdraw. When a child believes he is viewed with suspicion, he stops coming forward.

This isn’t a mystery.
It’s textbook stereotype threat.

Boys are struggling socially.

A boy who believes his masculinity is problematic becomes hesitant. He won’t take risks socially. He won’t lead. He won’t assert himself. He won’t approach others. He is more likely to isolate or escape into online worlds where he is not judged simply for being male.

Boys are avoiding leadership roles.

They know one wrong move can be labeled “toxic,” “aggressive,” or “harmful.” So they hold back—especially in mixed-gender settings.
They self-limit long before anyone else has to.

Boys are losing their sense of belonging.

When you’re told repeatedly that your group is the source of society’s problems, you don’t imagine yourself as part of the community’s solution.
You imagine yourself on the outside.

Boys are suffering emotionally.

Rising rates of depression.
Rising rates of anxiety.
Rising suicide rates among adolescent boys.

And yet we never ask whether telling boys they’re dangerous or defective might be harming them psychologically. Just imagine telling any other group that the world would be better with less of them in it.

And then… boys stop asking for help.

Because why would you ask for help from a system that tells you that you’re the problem?

Boys, who already face the biological challenges of testosterone, the additional social push from precarious manhood, and the resulting male hierarchy, now carry an added layer of identity threat that undermines their confidence across every domain of life.

This isn’t subtle.
It isn’t accidental.
And it isn’t without consequences.

But here’s the part that should trouble us most:
We would never tolerate this treatment for girls. Ever.

If any institution—even unintentionally—sent girls negative messages about their identity, we would demand reform, new funding, and a national conversation.

But with boys?
We call it “accountability.”
We call it “progress.”
We call it “teaching them to be better.”

No.
It’s teaching them to disappear.

Part two will examine what creates and maintains this double standard.

Men Are Good.

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tgolden@tgolden

November 22, 2025

How Feminist Researchers Lied

Murray Straus exposes the deception

This is a post I wrote in 2015 about a courageous 2009 journal article by Murray Straus, PhD, that exposed seven ways that feminists researchers twisted/distorted their data in order to maintain their narrative. It’s an important article for us all to see and understand.

_____________________________

There are millions of compassionate and loving people in the United States who have been given erroneous information about domestic violence. Over the years the media and academia have offered a steady stream of information that indicates that women are the only victims of domestic violence and men the only perpetrators. We have all been deceived. What most don’t know is that a part of that deception has been intentional and has come from the scientific community. As hard as it is to believe it is indisputable. Most of us had no idea of this deception until recently. More and more is now coming out about the symmetry of victimization in domestic violence between men and women.

One of the breakthroughs that have helped us identify this deception was the journal response of Murray Straus Ph.D. Straus has been an acclaimed researcher of family and interpersonal violence for many years. In his article he unveils the ways that this misinformation has been intentionally spread via “research.” He shows the seven ways that the truth has been distorted. It is a fascinating yet sobering article that shows how, without actually lying, the researchers were able to distort things and make it appear that it was something that is was not. We all know that once a research study is published the media will latch on and print the results as gospel truth, so the media became the megaphone to spread the misinformation once it was inked in the scientific journal. I would highly recommend your reading the full report by Straus which can be found here: https://www.researchgate.net/publication/228350210_Gender_symmetry_in_partner_violence_The_evidence_the_denial_and_the_implications_for_primary_prevention_and_treatment

Let’s go through the seven ways one by one.

1. Suppress evidence.

The first type of deceit that Straus describes is suppressing evidence. The researchers would ask questions about both men and women but only report on the answers from women. The half-story would leave readers with the impression that it was only women who were victims even though the researcher had the surveys of male victims on hand they simply didn’t report it. The data on male victims was simply buried while the data on female victims was reported. Straus discusses the Status on Women report from Kentucky in the late 1970’s that was the first to use this strategy. They collected data on both male and female victims but only the female victims were discussed in the publications. Scientific method is dependent upon creating a hypothesis and testing it. If you get data from your test that is contrary to your original hypothesis this is just as important as getting data that affirms the hypothesis and can be used to adjust your original hypothesis. To ignore ones own data that contradicts the hypothesis is the epitome of disregard to the foundations of scientific inquiry. It leaves the realms of research and enters the realms of propaganda and shaping the outcome to mislead.

2. Avoid Obtaining Data Inconsistent With the Patriarchal Dominance Theory.

The second method described by Straus was that of simply not asking the questions when you didn’t want to hear the answers. The surveys would ask the women about their victimhood and ask men about their perpetration but failed to inquire about women’s violence or men’s victimhood. If you ask questions that address only half the problem you are certain to conclude with only half the answers. Straus highlights a talk he gave in Canada where he evaluated 12 studies on domestic violence. Ten out of the twelve only asked questions about female victims and male perpetrators. If you don’t ask the questions you will never get the answers. Publishing half the truth is intentionally misleading.

3. Cite Only Studies That Show Male Perpetration

Straus reveals a number of situations where studies or official documents would cite only other studies that showed female victims and male perpetrators. He uses the Department of Justice press release as just one example where they only cite the “lifetime prevalence” data because it showed primarily male perpetration. They omitted referencing the “past-year” data even though it was more accurate since it showed females perpetrated 40% of the partner assaults. Straus shows journal articles and names organizations such as the United Nations, World Health Organization, the US Department of Justice and others who used this tactic to make it appear that women were the primary victims of domestic violence and men the primary perpetrators.

4. Conclude That Results Support Feminist Beliefs When They Do Not

Straus showed an example of a study by Kernsmith (2005) where the author claimed that women’s violence was more likely to be in self defense but data to support the claim didn’t exist. Apparently he had made the claim even without any supporting evidence. Straus shows that the self defense category was primarily about anger and coercion and not about self-defense at all but this didn’t stop the researcher from claiming the erroneous results which of course could be quoted by later studies as proof that such data does indeed exist.

5. Create “Evidence” By Citation

The “woozle” effect is described by Straus as when “frequent citation of previous publications that lack evidence mislead us into thinking there is evidence.” He lists the Kernsmaith study and a report from the World Health Organization as examples. Both made claims (without evidence to back it up) that women’s violence was largely in self-defense. The claims were quoted repeatedly and people eventually started to believe that the claims were correct.

6. Obstruct Publication of Articles and Obstruct Funding Research that Might Contradict the Idea that Male Dominance is the Cause of Personal Violence

Straus mentions two incidents that illustrate this claim. One was a call for papers on the topic of partner violence in December of 2005 from the National Institute of Justice where it was stated that “proposals to investigate male victimization would not be eligible.” Another was an objection raised by a reviewer of one of his proposals due to its having said that “violence in relationships was a human problem.” He also stated that the “more frequent pattern is self-censorship by authors fearing that it will happen or that publication of such a study will undermine their reputation, and, in the case of graduate students, the ability to obtain a job.”

7. Harrass, Threaten, and Penalize Researchers who Produce Evidence That Contradicts Feminist Beliefs Straus provides details of a number of incidents where researchers who found evidence of gender symmetry in domestic violence were harassed or threatened. He described a number of instances such as bomb scares at personal events, being denied tenure and promotions, or “shouts and stomping” meant to drown out an oral presentation. He relates being called a “wife-beater” as a means to denigrate both himself and his previous research findings.

Straus concludes that a “climate of fear has inhibited research and publication on gender symmetry in personal violence.” His words help us to understand the reasons that our public is so convinced that women are the sole victims of domestic violence and men the only perpetrators. It has been years and years of researchers telling only half the story and when we get only half the story and consider it the whole truth we are likely to defend our limited version of the truth and ostracize those who may offer differing explanations. The matter is further complicated due to the media having acted as a megaphone for the half story that has emerged so the “common knowledge” that has emerged from the media for many years has been half the story and due to its not telling both sides of the story, it is basically misinformation. What this tells us is that we need to stay on our toes when it comes to social science research. Straus’s paper has helped us immensely in seeing how research can be set up to appear to tell the truth but fail miserably in doing so. While the researchers are not technically lying, the end product is similar since it produces only a partial image of the reality of domestic violence and leaves people without the details to fill in the reality of the situation. It is likely a good idea to have a look at the way each study gets its data, the exact nature of the people being used as subjects, and the conclusion drawn and if they are congruous with the data that was gathered. Next we will look at a study that uses Straus’s first example, ignoring ones own data.

Men Are Good

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